Tales of a Security Chief, Vol III
by bookdragon01
Summary: Due to characters that won't stop telling stories in my head, Vol III: continuing stories of Security Chief Sam Giotto, a 50-something on a ship filled with 20-somethings his captain included. A series of largely unrelated one-shots about his experiences.
1. Chapter 1

**Tales of a Security Chief, Vol. III**

Summary: _By request and due to characters that won't stop telling stories in my head, Vol III: continuing stories of Security Chief Sam Giotto, a 50-something on a ship filled with 20-somethings, his captain included. A series of largely unrelated one-shots about his experiences._

_I always thought the Security Chief ought to have been given a bit more of a roll considering how many of his redshirts Kirk goes through on away missions. Cmdr. Giotto is identified as the head of security in the TOS episode _The Devil in the Dark_. I have a soft spot for the redshirts and Giotto has taken on a bit of a life of his own in my imagination. He is one of the few TOS characters with nearly all gray hair and I since I've been noticing some myself lately, I got to thinking about what it would be like for him in the AU serving on a ship full of rookies, including a very young version of Kirk_.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek (although it owns a substantial piece of my imagination), but Sam and my other OCs are mine.

* * *

_**A Slap in the Face**_

_Because the more things change the more they stay insane_

_

* * *

_

The Captain extended his arms, turning with a huge grin almost before the glow of the transporter beam had disappeared. "Welcome to Tortuga Station, gentlemen. I used to make regular runs out here when I was finishing my shuttle piloting quals." A nostalgic grin spread over his face. "Best flight-time gig _ever_ - this place is like Vegas and Paradise Island rolled into one and planted in the middle of space. What do you think?"

"It is …interesting," Spock replied.

Giotto suppressed a laugh at the way the XO's eyebrow lifted as he swept the glitzy décor with a disapproving gaze. The station was a popular destination for cadets as well as other 'fleet personnel and Giotto had been here a number of times during his roughly three decades in Starfleet. However, in all those visits, he couldn't remember ever having seen a Vulcan in the place. There was obviously a reason for that and he doubted that Spock would have willingly made himself the first to set foot here if it weren't for the fact that his Captain was singularly relentless.

Having finally impressed upon the vast majority of this young crew what he could (and _would_) do to them if they got too out-of-hand on leave, Giotto would have been just as happy to remain on the ship as well, but he was subject to the same relentless Captain and hadn't survived this long in Security without developing a sort of sixth sense for trouble. Kirk, Spock and McCoy going off anywhere even remotely suspect together set that sense off like a hull breach alarm.

"Alright, so you've dragged us to this space-born den of iniquity," McCoy drawled. "Did you have something specific in mind or are we just supposed to wander around until someone – probably _you_ – finds trouble."

The doctor was almost as much of a cynic as Giotto, but lacked his years of conditioning against speaking to a superior officer that way. Of course, Sam halfway suspected that even a century in Starfleet wouldn't do much to change McCoy in that regard.

"Bones, where's you're sense of adventure?" Kirk teased.

McCoy arched an eyebrow at his friend. "Hiding back in my office, waiting for me to come running in with you on a stretcher."

"Not going to happen. Back me up here, Chief. This place is perfectly safe and it was built for pleasure."

"No place is without risks for the unwary, but I do know of a few places here that can be fun," Giotto exchanged a glance with Spock. "Or at least quite stimulating."

The Vulcan inclined his head slightly. "I shall follow your lead, Mr. Giotto."

"Hold on, I'm sensing a conspiracy," Kirk accused with a half-grin. "Where are you two headed?"

Giotto smiled at his Captain. "To find a game of five-card and see which of us can come closest to beating the table. You in?"

Kirk gave Spock an incredulous look. "You're on board with this?"

"As I have benefited from his tutelage in the game of poker, Mr. Giotto thought it might prove an interesting challenge to attempt to best him in an independent venue." One corner of Spock's mouth twitched fractionally upward. "It was an offer I could not refuse."

There was a brief pause before McCoy stared open-mouthed and Captain coughed to swallow a laugh. Having mastered the concept of bluffing, Spock had recently begun using his standing invitation to Giotto's poker group to try to work out the human practice of ribbing one's friends. The results tended to be mixed, but there were times when Sam strongly suspected that Spock used the presumption of Vulcan naiveté to crack a joke no one else could get away with. He chuckled, narrowing eyes slightly. "Just for that, you are going down 'Spocko'."

"C'mon, Jim," Bones laughed, clapping his hands together. "This I gotta see."

"Wait a minute," Kirk held up his hands. "We are in the middle of one of the premier hedonistic pleasure domes in the galaxy, and you guys want to go find a game you could play on the ship any time? You can't be serious! Look, there's this place on the 3rd level were the dancers… "A dreamily lascivious look crossed his face. "I mean, when was the last time you had a beautiful almost-naked woman literally wrap herself around you?"

Spock appeared to develop a sudden interest in the floor and Kirk gave him an accusing look. "Don't answer that."

He looked up, eyebrows at half-mast. "I assure you, I had no intention of doing so."

McCoy laughed, bouncing slightly on his toes and Kirk pointed at him. "You either."

The Captain looked over and Giotto assumed his best blank expression. His position as Security Chief meant that he didn't share the particulars of his private life with shipmates, including his superior officer. But no matter the status of his personal life (and he was currently pretty happy with it), agreeing to join his Captain on an expedition in debauchery would be completely out of the question.

"There are generally some attractive women in the casino," he offered. It wasn't that he didn't feel some sympathy for the Captain. In fact, if he were about thirty years younger and they were both unattached junior officers… no, probably not then either. Sam had been a bit wild in his twenties, but never anywhere near Kirk's reputation.

"Come on, none of you are married," the Captain cajoled. "Uhura's shopping on the main level and Hanlan's minding the office for Sam. We probably won't even _see_ them until tomorrow. So you've got girlfriends - it's not like you're dead."

McCoy raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, and I for one would like to keep it that way."

Giotto suppressed a laugh. The doctor's girlfriend was on his staff and highly rated in both hand-to-hand and marksmanship. "Don't worry Doc, Jessy wouldn't hurt you …much."

"See? And even if she does, it'll totally be worth it." Kirk flashed a grin, heading toward the lift.

The remaining officers exchanged a look. "Well, we can't let Jim wander off on his own," McCoy grumbled. Unfortunately prior experience suggested that that was probably all too true. They hurried to catch up.

The floor they stepped off on looked like a cross between a disco and a bordello. Sam's hand instinctively checked his pocket. At Kirk's age he'd recently made first lieutenant and visited this spot to celebrate with shipmates equally young and incautious. Most of them had returned to the _Lexington_ having to sheepishly admit to _their_ Chief that their IDs and comms had been lifted somewhere in the course of the outing. In the intervening years Giotto had learned that while that experience wasn't typical, it was far from uncommon and the higher your rank, the more of a target you made. Of course, the Captain had brushed that warning aside before they even left the ship, confident in his prior experience with the station's inhabitants.

"I'm telling you, the women here are amazing. They give a whole new definition to the word 'friendly'." Kirk beamed, waving to a woman whose clothing appeared to have been painted on with very, very thin paints. "Scarlet!"

"Jim Kirk!" She turned and swung a palm across his face, landing a hard slap before striding off in a huff.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "That response does appear to vary significantly from what one would associate with the standard definition of 'friendly'."

Bones snorted a laugh. "Yeah, but it's not necessarily a nonstandard reaction to Jim's charm."

"Okay," Kirk said, rubbing his jaw. "Not sure I deserved that." He looked up as another woman approached, this one dressed (if it could be called that) in crisscrossing ribbons. "Giselle!"

"Who was _she_?"

"Who?"

A hand moved with surprising speed to connect with the other side of Kirk's face before the woman spun on her heel and stalked off.

"Yep, nothin' but amazingly friendly women as far as the eye can see," McCoy snarked.

"It's okay," Kirk touched his cheek with a devilish grin. "I _may_ have deserved that."

"Perhaps a game of poker would be safer," Giotto suggested.

"Nah, it's just that I played the field a bit when I was coming out here a lot. Most of them were totally okay with it."

Based on their initial random sampling, that seemed unlikely, but it wasn't his place to say it. Giotto limited himself to a skeptical look. "If you say so, sir."

"Jim." Kirk widened his eyes. "We're off duty, so it's _Jim_."

"Considering the number of people who seem inclined to take a swing at you up here, I'm not sure I should stay off duty," Giotto raised his eyebrows, allowing himself a small smile, "sir."

Kirk rolled his eyes. "A couple slaps in the face is as much trouble as I'm going to get into here. I'm _not_ going to need a bodyguard." He held his fingers up in a Boy Scout pledge. "I swear."

.

* * *

"It's okay, sir, I've got him."

Giotto released the man he had pinned to a table and wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth while surveying the scene. His people had responded promptly, but the place was trashed. He knew the Captain had been sincere about avoiding trouble, but going to a club filled with exotic dancers, half of whom had 'managers' who, as it turned out, had been just waiting to have a 'word' with Kirk? Sam restrained a sigh. There were times when he was tempted to imagine that the term SNAFU had been developed just for them.

"Hold still you green-blooded hobgoblin," McCoy growled. "It's hard enough picking green bits of glass out of green blood without you shifting around."

"Is he alright?" Uhura hurried in, bags over her wrist and concern written across her face.

"I am mery... merrially... only disorientated," Spock replied with the closest thing to a goofy expression that Sam had ever seen on a Vulcan face.

"Keep still," McCoy ordered. "Someone broke a bottle over his head. Don't worry, it didn't crack that thick Vulcan skull, but it was full of some sort of chocolate liquor and it seems to have gotten into his bloodstream."

Uhura swore under her breath in at least three languages before taking in the rest of the scene. "How the _frell_ did you wind up in this..." she gestured somewhat violently at the surroundings, "_place_."

The doctor fixed a laser-like glare on the Captain. "Go ask everybody's favorite fly boy."

"I might have known." She turned to Kirk, hands on hips and an expression that made Giotto wonder if he shouldn't be prepared to restrain her.

Kirk had his head tilted back with a piece of cloth held to staunch a bloody nose. He cracked one swollen eye at her. "You're not gonna hit me too are you?"

"If I _did_ you'd certainly deserve it, but _that_ would be too easy." She leaned over him, speaking in tightly clipped phrases. "No, now that I know everyone is going to be okay, I'm going to go back to the ship, handle what I'm sure will be an _avalanche_ of comm messages, and _think_ about just how to teach _you_ a lesson."

She turned on her heel and Kirk grimaced, watching her stalk away. "You were right, Chief. Poker probably would have been a lot safer."

* * *

_AN: _**Hidden Relevance**_ asked sometime ago about subjecting Kirk to the slap scene from _Pirates of the Caribbean_. I saw the movie again recently and since Uhura has been complaining that she hasn't had a role in my fics in a while, an Anamaria scene seemed appropriate. I couldn't have her actually strike a superior officer of course, but making him worry about other forms of payback should be within bounds._

_The 'ribbing' at the beginning refers to my reboot of _A Piece of the Action _in_ Vol II_ where __Kirk uses 'Spocko' and Giotto imagines his Italian ancestors rolling in their graves over him playing a mafioso. _

_Please read & review._


	2. The Talk

**The Talk**

_Because showing off can be dangerous to your health in more ways than one_

_

* * *

_

Lt. Warren 'Cupcake' Grossman stood outside his CO's door trying not to feel like a kid who had been called to the principal's office. Giotto had walked by as he was putting his equipment away after practice and told him to come by 'at his next opportunity' (i.e., he could wait to report until after showering, changing, and, if desperately hungry, grabbing a bite a to eat). Despite the fact that the Chief hadn't looked either pleased or displeased and his tone had been completely casual, the summons was unexpected and Warren couldn't help being nervous.

Not for the first time he wished his CO wasn't so good at being hard to read. Was this going to be good or bad? A reassignment? A reprimand? Not knowing was making him tense, but what he did know was that Giotto valued equanimity in his officers so Warren was determined to get himself together before activating the door's sensor. Unfortunately the whole Jedi be-calm-and-at-peace thing was just not working for him right now.

It would really help if he had some idea what this was about. However, he couldn't think of anything he'd done recently to stand out either for good or ill. He hadn't (to the best of his knowledge) screwed up any reports, but Giotto usually made Jenkins or Groesner deal with that sort of thing. Nothing weird or even remarkable had happened during his bridge shifts in the last two weeks (a new record), so no issues there. On the mission readiness side, he was in the top 25 for sim scores, but not in the top 10. When it came to hand-to-hand and most weapons, he was above average but not stellar.

...Hmm. Except at bo staff, which he had just been practicing. He was good enough at that for Cindy to teasingly call him 'Little John' since there were only a handful of people who could best him. Maybe he was going to get a instructor assignment? That would be sweet. On the other hand, the bouts today hadn't been much of a challenge and Cindy had been watching so he'd tried a few flashy moves. The Chief hated flashy. He wanted quick and decisive ("Clean, efficient moves minimize your opponent's options for counter-attack. Flashy is for the movies."). So maybe this was just going to be a "don't get cocky" talk.

Warren was mentally weighing a mild reprimand from his boss versus impressing his girlfriend when the door opened.

Giotto looked out at him from behind his desk. "Were you planning on coming in Mr. Grossman?"

Crap. Of course 'Master Yoda' had known he was out here. "Yes, sir." Grossman did his best not to look as embarrassed as he felt as he entered and came to attention.

"At ease, Lieutenant." Giotto leaned back in his chair. "Have a seat."

A seat? Had he heard right? Grossman had only been called in here five times before. Once for getting way too hammered on shore leave, twice for minor screw-ups, once when he'd qualified for bridge duty and the last time for a (mostly positive) critique of his performance on an away mission. He'd never been invited to sit. In fact, as far as he knew, no one in his pay grade _ever_ sat in this office.

"Sir?"

Giotto's eyebrows lifted slightly at the question. "Warren, sit."

His first name. Oh God. Warren swallowed trepidation as he took a seat. The Chief only did 'fatherly' if it was something serious - like a death in the family.

"Relax," One corner of Giotto's mouth tilted upward. "No one's dead, but we're having a talk because _you_ are tempting fate."

"I don't understand, sir."

"What's Rule One, Lieutenant?"

"To avoid a fight if at all possible," he answered reflexively. Giotto had almost obsessively drilled the concept into every person in Security.

"Good," Giotto pursed his lips. "You realize that means more than just not giving in to provocation. It also means avoiding actions that are likely to provoke others."

"Yes..." Grossman answered hesitantly. He hadn't been involved in any fight in months. "I still don't understand, sir."

"The Doctor _and_ Nurse Chapel are on the war path." His CO looked at him gravely. "If they figure out whoever was ...behaving in an inappropriate manner in the break room with Nurse Davis, it will _not_ go well for that person."

Dear God, how did he find out? Cindy had refused to admit to anything (which Warren frankly had to admire since he found her CO a lot scarier than his) and the main reason they'd gotten a little carried away was that everything had sort of started with that (not quite) innocent kiss in the break room.

Warren tried desperately not to blush. Or blanch. Cindy's boss might be scarier than his, but his was right in front of him and frighteningly good at assigning the sort of discipline no one forgot in hurry. "Please, sir, I -"

"Gave in to temptation." Giotto held up a hand. "You are _far _from the first person with whom I have had to have this sort of discussion. However, I am the _last _person who would divulge information about someone else's private life unless it was absolutely necessary." He stared levelly at Warren. "In this case, so long as there are no further incidents in public areas, I will not consider it necessary. Are we clear?"

"Crystal, sir," Warren replied gratefully.

"Good, because I told Nurse Chapel that I would have a word with the individual involved and make sure that it wouldn't happen again."

Grossman swallowed. He wasn't quite off the hook. "It won't, sir. I swear."

"See that it doesn't." Giotto rested his chin on a hand and paused for what seemed like an interminably long moment. "Just to be on the safe side, you might want to keep things a bit under the radar until the Doctor is in a better mood."

Right. A better mood. With McCoy that would have to mean 'bad' instead of 'really bad' or 'angry enough to spit nails'. He had a sinking feeling that he was going to be as gray as the Chief before he dared to let McCoy guess that he was the one who had been fooling around with Cindy.

A low chuckle came from the other side of the desk. "McCoy can be a bit gruff, but he does have a good side. No matter your other circumstances, being on a doctor's good side is extremely advisable for people in our profession, so I suggest you work on it."

"Yes, sir," Warren answered, but without much enthusiasm.

"It's not impossible, Lieutenant," the Chief chided. "For the present, follow that diet the Doctor assigned you to the letter and try to stay out of sickbay."

Grossman groaned inwardly. The diet. Damn. But maybe if he stuck to it for a change the doctor would be a little happier with him. "Understood. Is there anything else, sir?"

"Yes, stop showing off when Davis is in the gym. It's bad practice." Giotto cocked an eyebrow at him. "_And_ a dead give away."

* * *

_AN: Written for _**evilpinkpen **_who __requested a fic about Cupcake and Nurse Davis. (For anyone trying to sync time lines between these tales and_ Sneakin' Around_, this one should technically fall somewhere between _Vol. I and Vol. II).

_Please r&r_


	3. Prime Time

**Prime Time**

_Because the future is always in motion, but there are some fixed points  
_

_

* * *

_

"Only a few more days," Denise said wearily.

"A few more days," Giotto echoed looking up from the drink he was nursing. It was only synthahol since being on call 24/7 didn't allow for what he'd like to be drinking right now.

"You should eat something, Sam. I have to eat with our guests, but I don't think you've had a proper meal in days."

He gave her a wry grin. "Yes, mom."

Denise narrowed her eyes, but smiled. "Watch yourself, 'Pop'." Her comm chirped and she checked the message. "I have to go. Ambassador Golak has gotten disoriented _again_." She sighed. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

He pressed his lips together and nodded. "Try to get a little sleep."

"I will." She touched his arm briefly as she rose to leave.

His eyes trailed her a moment as she left the lounge, before returning to his poor substitute for a real drink. Sam reflected ruefully that that was about as much physical contact as they'd had time for in the last week. The ship was ferrying a veritable horde of diplomats to a conference and the majority of them seemed to be under the impression that Denise's position as diplomatic liaison meant that they could treat her like their personal concierge and/or gopher. The fact that nearly every contentious delegate seemed to bear some sort of grudge, if not outright animosity, toward some significant portion of the others had also kept Giotto constantly busy policing the lot of them.

He ran a hand through salt-and-pepper hair, thinking that there was going to be more salt by the time this was over. Even when he hadn't had any real personal life for it to interrupt, he'd hated these sorts of missions. There was something about most politicians that naturally set his teeth on edge and for the last week he'd been surrounded by them. Starfleet took a dim view of its officers smacking dignitaries (no matter how much they might deserve it) and the necessity of being politely deferential to supposedly adult beings who came close to exchanging blows over trivialities like who had what seat at a table invariably left him with a headache.

"You may find this beneficial, Mr. Giotto."

Giotto looked up to the face attached to the elderly hand that had placed a white tablet beside his glass. Vulcan. One of the few species that could move with enough stealth to catch him unaware. He began to rise. "Is there something you require, Ambassador?"

"Please remained seated, Mr. Giotto. I would appreciate it if you would allow me to impose upon you for company, but my primary intention was to offer something that you might require." The ancient Vulcan indicated the pill on the table.

"You are welcome to join me, Ambassador." Giotto resumed his seat and considered the white tablet. There was no way he would accept something like that from any other delegate, but even brief prior interaction with Ambassador 'Selek' had made it apparent to Giotto that the rumors following the Narada incident were true. Sam was absolutely certain that the strong physical resemblance between Spock and his much older 'kinsman' extended to an uncanny genetic similarity as well. Still, this was a different Spock, with his own agenda, and by long habit Giotto did not allow weakness, even the minor weakness of a chronic headache, to show.

The Ambassador settled into the seat Denise had recently occupied. "Rest assured that your discomfort is not obvious."

Giotto raised an eyebrow. Vulcans were touch telepaths, but not necessarily limited to touch. His Spock was usually reluctant to use that ability, but this Spock seemed considerably more casual in a number of ways.

Selek lifted both eyebrows in return. "I am well aware of your aversion to telepathy and would not subject you to such unwelcome intrusion. However, a long time ago a friend taught me to play poker as a means of learning to read humans." The old Vulcan came dangerously close to smiling. "It has taken over a hundred years of practice, but I believe I have become almost as adept at reading people as he was."

This wasn't his Spock, but it seemed there was more similarity than he had previously thought. "Thank you." Sam took the pill with a swallow of his drink.

"The relief is not as swift as when administered by hypo, but I have always found the brief delay to be a small price to pay for avoiding a lecture from the doctor."

Giotto smiled. There had clearly also been a version of Dr. McCoy in whatever universe this Spock had previously occupied. "Can I get you a drink, Ambassador?"

"That will not be necessary." A quiet amusement lit the eyes under partially lifted brows. "I am not yet too old to obtain a beverage for myself should I require one."

Sam looked at him. Either he had finally cracked from resisting the urge to slap diplomats, or this version of Spock was teasing him.

The old Vulcan leaned in slightly. "Mr. Giotto, I am certain that by now you have surmised my identity, so you must be aware that I have a sense of humor. The timelines have diverged too much to consider this a prediction, but when I last saw you face to face, you were 123 and still teaching cadets that assuming that an old man was not a threat could be a serious mistake."

"It may not be a prediction," Sam chuckled. "But it's good to hear that it's a possibility. I doubt however that that's the reason you've come to talk with me."

"You vary little from the Sam Giotto I recall." The older Spock leaned back, steepling his fingers. "There are indeed concerns that I wish to discuss, particularly with respect to Jim Kirk. Of all those so much like the friends I once knew, he is the one most altered by the circumstances of this timeline. I firmly believe that he is meant to be the captain of the _Enterprise_, but in my universe, although he was the youngest Starfleet captain in history, he had entered the Academy earlier and was given the ship at 31, not 26."

"If you're concerned that a rapid field promotion without the tempering effects of serving in the lower ranks might be a problem, you are far from alone," Giotto allowed. "However, despite a rather exceptional jump in rank, he is neither the first nor likely to be last officer to find himself suddenly in command because of extraordinary circumstances."

The Ambassador's head tilted slightly. "Do you say that as a student of military history or as someone who was also pushed into command rank under the circumstances of war?"

Sam briefly wondered if the older Spock had checked his service record or if the _Kelvin_'s destruction had affected the timelines less than he had supposed. "As both."

"Then as both, and as someone who has trained a significant number of young officers, how would you assess Jim's progress in adapting to the role?"

Interestingly, Sam found this older version of Spock easier to read. The friendship already clearly forming between Captain and XO on this ship must have become deep on the one in their lost future, and this Spock's loyalty and concern for his Kirk clearly extended to his younger counterpart. In all likelihood, the Vulcan Ambassador had overheard some of the supposedly hushed conversations among the delegates about the young Captain's occasionally seat-of-the-pants approach to diplomacy and rumors that some in the admiralty were having second thoughts about promoting him.

"I would say that he is adapting with less difficulty than rumors may suggest. Kirk's other extraordinary circumstance is that hostilities ceased very rapidly after his promotion which has given him some breathing room to adjust." Giotto paused, considering that this Spock might share his assessment with Kirk. "That's not to say that he doesn't need to learn a lot more caution and restraint."

Now a smile unmistakeably crossed the old Vulcan's face. "That was true of my Jim even when he was well past your age, Mr. Giotto."

Oh God. Sam restrained a sigh. "That is not particularly reassuring, Mr. Sp-, Selek."

Another almost-smile turned the Ambassador's lips. "I am still not entirely accustomed to that name either, even though it is the name I assumed the last time I traveled in time and encountered my younger self."

And that _really_ wasn't reassuring. "I hope that that sort of thing didn't occur frequently."

"Frequently is a rather imprecise term. However, journeying in time was certainly not as rare an occurrence as any of us might have imagined at the outset of our mission." A single eyebrow ascended. "In fact, all of the starships designated _Enterprise_ seem to have had an unusual affinity for temporal anomalies. If that pattern is consistent, then given your interest in history Mr. Giotto, you should find the next several years fascinating."

Giotto couldn't help a sense of misgiving. Fascinating was not necessarily a good thing. The last time the younger Spock had used that term it had been applied to a living asteroid that had nearly eaten the ship. "I don't suppose you have any advice on how to keep those potential anomalies on the non-lethal side of fascinating?"

The elder Spock pursed his lips. "As I said, it cannot be considered predictive, but there may be some benefit in reviewing the history and sociology of 20th century earth. My _Enterprise_ seemed to have a particular attraction to that era."

Gah. One of the most mind-bogglingly complex and confused periods of earth's post-industrial history - so much as sneeze in that era and you'd probably start half a dozen diverging time lines. Giotto looked into his glass sincerely wishing it contained something much stronger than synthahol.

"Do not be dismayed, Mr. Giotto. In all likelihood you will have some marvelous tales to tell your children."

Sam sturggled to suppress his reaction. Had Maria lived, or at least lived longer, in this Spock's timeline? Considering that the universe had miraculously given him another chance at love, the idea hit harder than it should have. They had just begun to try when his wife had died...

"Have I said something wrong?" The Ambassador's eyebrows drew down in concern.

"No, just puzzling," Giotto brushed it off. This Spock, like his, seemed to have a kind soul under that impassive exterior and Sam wouldn't cause him discomfort (even if he'd never admit to feeling it). "In this universe I don't have children – other than the rookies on this ship who keep calling me Pop behind my back."

"I see. There are so many things that are almost the same that it appears even a Vulcan may become confused. Perhaps it would be well if you took your …companion's advice to obtain nourishment." The Ambassador's head tilted slightly in response to Giotto's expression. "It was not my intention to eavesdrop, but Vulcan hearing does not diminish significantly even with advanced age."

And the cagey old Vulcan had probably been hovering nearby, waiting to claim a moment to speak with him in private before someone else demanded his attention. "I understand Ambassador, and thank you. I will make a point of reviewing earth's 20th century."

"It is a fascinating topic, even more so when viewed in person." The Ambassador stood, lifting his hand in the _ta'al_. "Live long and prosper, Mr. Giotto."

Giotto rose as well, carefully forming the hand sign. "Peace and long life, Ambassador."

He watched the elder Spock make his way from the lounge and sat down mentally reviewing what he had said and not quite said. He'd overheard the conversation with Denise and that had led him to assume something about children. It had probably just been their 'mom' and 'pop' joke. Still... Denise was certainly young enough, but they were friends who had become lovers. They hadn't even reached the stage of making their relationship public. It was partly his own qualms about the difference in their ages, but though she tried to hide it, Sam knew that she resisted becoming that serious in part because she wrestled with the distinct possibility that his job might finally manage to kill him. Right now, the idea that she'd ever consider the possibility of being left a single mother seemed fairly remote.

On the other hand, the future had certainly surprised him more than once - and so had Denise.

Sam leaned back in his chair and lifted his glass, watching reflections in the liquid shift and change in the light. "Fascinating."

* * *

_AN: For_ **LKalomi**, _who asked for Spock Prime to make an appearance. That Sam doesn't let people get away with assuming that gray hair means he can't hold his own is from my first Giotto story, _Rule Three_._

_Please r&r (it's my birthday and reviews make great presents)  
_


	4. Christmas Blues

**Christmas Blues  
**

_Because even Jedi __play the blues..._

_

* * *

_

Cmdr. Giotto walked down the corridor relishing the near holiday miracle of a senior staff meeting ending early enough to afford him some free time. A sound caught his ear and he halted, surprised by the song echoing from the direction of the brig.

" ...Yeah, it's Christmas time pretty baby  
But it's raining in my heart  
Well, you know I love you baby  
Why must we be so far apart?... "

It was a very mid-23rd century version of the tune - a little too smooth and trying to sound 2220s 'retro' (Sam wondered briefly when exactly he'd gotten so old that music from his teens had become retro) - however, it wasn't half bad. Curious, he followed the music down the hallway to a small interrogation room that appeared to have been turned into a impromptu studio for an jam session by a group of junior officers. He paused at the door, deciding to let the song finish before busting them.

" ... What is a ship without a crew baby?  
What's the morning without the dew?  
Well, what is my life pretty baby  
With another lonely Christmas without you?..."

A guitar chord died in an ungraceful shriek as the player noticed his CO and snapped to attention. The rest of the group quickly followed suit.

"Sorry, sir," Lt. Leslie wore the worried look of a kid caught holding a wild party while Dad was out.

Forcing himself to maintain a stern expression despite a certain amusement at the 'we are so doomed' looks on the faces in front of him, Giotto entered the room. "Is there an explanation for this Lieutenant?"

Leslie looked uncomfortably to his co-conspirators before resigning himself to the role of spokesman. "We didn't mean to disturb you, sir." The anxiety in his tone indicated that that was probably a serious understatement. "But it's almost the holidays, and we're all a long way from home sir, so we thought it might help to get together and play some blues."

Giotto nodded, pursing his lips. How many times had he played blues when he'd been homesick out here as a young man or lonely when Maria was gone? Or sometimes just because he enjoyed it. Still, this wasn't the appropriate place.

"A reasonable thought Mr. Leslie, however, you realize that there _are_ rec rooms for this sort for thing?"

"Yes, sir, but we sort of wanted to practice first before playing in a public room." Leslie swallowed nervously. "This room wasn't in use, sir."

"I see," Giotto remarked dryly. He paced slowly around the group, inspecting the set-up. It wasn't a particularly serious infraction and given the circumstances he wasn't inclined to discipline them for it, but he intended to make them think long enough about what he _might_ do to ensure that no one would be inclined to turn the brig area into party central whenever the cells were unoccupied.

"We should have requested permission first." Leslie straightened, trying to surreptitiously draw a deep breath. "It's my fault, sir, and I take full responsibility."

"Very well, Mr. Leslie," Giotto nodded approval. Eddie had only just been promoted to second lieutenant, but he had the makings of a leader and Sam made a mental note to offer him the opportunity to cross-train in other departments at his next service review. "Then I will hold you responsible for your group's musical quality. You may continue to use this room on a temporary basis _and_ subject to my prior approval of practice schedule."

Giotto allowed himself a small smile at the look of astonished relief on Leslie's face. He scanned the others, all seemingly caught in various states of disbelief. "You may stand at ease."

"Thank you, sir! And we'll keep it down, I promise. I know you probably don't appreciate loud music."

Sam cleared his throat, suppressing a chuckle. They'd be surprised. Buried somewhere among the stuff he had stored in his brother's attic was a fairly nice set of drums. Currently, the price for that storage space was _not_ passing those down to his nephew.

"The volume is not a problem for me, Lieutenant. However, if you wish to postpone a public debut, you should do something about how the sound carries down the hall. These rooms _can_ be sound proofed."

"Erg, I forgot. Computer, activate sound proofing." Leslie grimaced in embarrassment. "I'll remember next time, sir."

"See that you do." Sam paused. He rarely got to listen to live blues anymore and he _did_ have a little time right now. He was almost tempted to request 'Empty Bed Christmas' but someone might faint from shock. He moved to a position near the wall and nodded. "You may continue."

There was a collective pause as it dawned on them that he wasn't leaving. Riley fingered his harmonica hesitantly. "You're staying, sir?"

"For a bit," Giotto raised an eyebrow at Riley. "You _are_ planning to stick to harmonica rather than vocals?"

Yeoman Ross giggled and 'Cupcake' Grossman made an unfortunate sound on his saxophone trying to stifle a laugh. Kevin's lack of vocal talent was well known.

"Yes sir," Riley flushed slightly. "I just …I didn't think this was your sort of music."

Giotto arched an eyebrow. "I was raised in St. Louis, Mr. Riley. I have been listening to the blues since before you were born." In fact, he'd played the blues in similar amateur group at the Academy before any of them had been born, but he saw no reason to voice that. "I'm actually quite fond of this sort of music."

An incredulous but hopeful look crossed Leslie's face. "So you _like_ how we sound?"

"Not bad," Sam tipped his head side to side. "Although I usually to prefer less Zeman Fet and more Johnny Lee Hooker."

There was another collective pause. "Johnny Lee Hooker?" Riley finally ventured.

Giotto suppressed a sigh. What were they teaching kids these days? "One of the legendary bluesmen of the mid-to-late 20th century – you _did_ go to the Boom Boom Room while you were in the Academy?"

There were nods, but they still looked confused. The club had been rebuilt several times and it was pretty likely none of them had been particularly sober on those outings, so they probably hadn't paid much attention to historical markers.

"The original club was founded by Hooker. The name comes from his best known song." Giotto could see the looks pass between them: 'Pop' was going to make them pay for this after all by giving a history lecture. Well, maybe so, but his own father would never forgive him if he didn't make sure these kids at least heard the original. "Computer, access music file SBG12. Play track 7."

The room filled with thrumming electric guitar and a driving beat of percussion. Lyrics came from a deep, gravelly voice, almost percussion in itself:

"Boom boom boom boom  
I'm gonna shoot you right down,  
right offa your feet  
Take you home with me… "

Heads began to nod and feet tap in time. They did know it, but the more refined modern version. Zeman Fet had successfully reworked a lot of ancient blues classics to appeal to this generation (and had made fortune doing it), but he had a smooth, polished style. In Sam's opinion the blues were better a little edgy and raw. Judging by the grins blooming on the musicians' faces and the way Leslie was fingering his guitar, they liked this version too.

The end of the tune was interrupted by the comm. "Cmdr. Giotto, you are needed in tactical. Please report."

So much free time. "On my way." Giotto nodded to the musicians as he left. If he ever wrote a blues song himself, it would be about being constantly on call.

* * *

_AN: The first song is_ Christmas Blues _by Canned Heat. After forcing the ship to listen to Irish ballads during _The Naked Time, _everyone knows Riley can't sing. Yeoman Ross appears in TOS's _Squire of Gothos_ and Leslie appears in several TOS episodes, usually as security, but sometimes in gold or blue.  
_

_John Lee Hooker (1912-2001) recorded over 100 albums __ over a career spanning more than half a century __and influenced generations of musicians worldwide. The last song he recorded, at the age of 88, was a collaboration with the Italian soul singer Zucchero._

_Please r&r  
_


	5. Native Attire

**Native Attire  
**

_Because there's a fine line between 'when in Rome' and 'the clothes make the man'._

* * *

People quickly put eyes forward and focused on where they were going as Giotto moved with deliberate speed toward the transporter room. It was a testament either to his own dark look or to the number of strange things the crew had already seen during their relatively brief time in space that no one stared (or laughed) upon seeing their Security Chief in tight leather pants and an open vest draped with chains.

For his part, Giotto had been required to wear stranger things for away missions, including nothing at all for a Betazoid wedding (which had probably been where his aversion to telepathy had started), but he couldn't help feeling like this get up made him look like the oldest living member of a Flak/Clash band. At least he wasn't alone in wishing he could remain in uniform. The Doctor had set a new record for expletive when he'd been shown what they were expected to wear. Chekhov's eyes had gone very wide and even Spock had looked uncomfortable at the prospect. The Captain, on the other hand, had grinned like a kid on Christmas and mouthed something that Giotto was fairly certain had been 'Awesome'.

Lt. Marshall was already in the transporter room when he arrived, waiting with last minute instructions and the gifts they were supposed to present the Shagreans. She eyed him with an amused look and very deliberately hummed 'Bad to the Bone'.

A sound like a choking hyena came from Mr. Kyle and Giotto glared at him. The transporter technician quickly decided that now would be an excellent time to check something in the equipment room where no one could hear him laugh.

Sam turned to Denise, narrowing his eyes slightly. "You know, the diplomatic officer really should be part of this mission."

She arched an eyebrow. "I have no intention of being mistaken for one of the gifts _or_ of wearing a skimpy leather bustier." She reached up and hung something around his neck, whispering "At least not in public."

Shagrean female attire left very little to the imagination and Sam quickly clamped down on the part of him inclined to imagine Denise wearing it. The very last thing he needed was to get turned on these pants. The way her fingers lingered a moment on his chest after adjusting the pendant and chain was not especially helpful in that regard, but she stepped back when the swish of the door signaled the arrival of the rest of the landing party.

The Doctor stomped in first with a surly expression, like an old school biker ready to pound the first person to look at him sideways. Spock followed, every line of his body proclaiming 'I am a perfectly composed, dignified Vulcan, _no matter what I may be wearing'_. In contrast, both Kirk and, surprisingly, Chekhov strutted in like rock stars, beaming huge grins.

Giotto noted that the Captain's leather pants were overlaid with some sort of striped animal print pattern and quickly schooled his features to a carefully blank expression.

Kirk clapped him on the shoulder. "Chief, cool tattoo!"

Sam resisted an urge to roll his eyes. The faded pattern on his upper arm was not so much cool as a testament to the fact that he had once been young, drunk and stupid. However, he'd survived his first battle with the (at the time equally young and drunk) people who had gotten similar marks, so he'd never had it removed.

Kirk glanced down his at his own arm. "Bones, could you...?"

"_No_," McCoy growled. "And don't even _think_ about getting one on your own; you'd probably be allergic to the ink. Now let's just get this over with so I can get out of these damn ridiculous pants."

_Amen_. Giotto nodded to the Doctor. He wasn't positive, but he thought he detected an echo of that sentiment in Spock's minute nod as well.

"C'mon guys, we look great!" Kirk spread his hands, assuming a runway pose.

"Da," Chekhov agreed enthusiastically. "Ve are looking _hot_ in zhis."

"Oh God, Jim," McCoy groaned. "Now you're corrupting minors."

"Nyet, I _like_ zhis." The young Russian grinned, straightening the shoulders of his vest. "Vhen you haf got it, flaunt it. Da?"

Bones put a hand over his eyes. "It's always the quiet ones…"

"Loosen up, Bones," Kirk nudged his friend. "_You've_ got it too. Even Spock's got it. And when we get down there, we've got to sell it."

"Sell it, Captain?" Spock's right eyebrow touched his hairline.

"Be cool, confident and convincing," Kirk flashed a grin. "Make them believe we and the Federation are as great as _we_ know we are."

It was not quite the way he would have put it, but Giotto had to admit that the Captain was right. However foolish this outfit might look to (most) humans, to the Shagreans it was the proper attire for respected men. "He has a point, Doc. When in Rome..."

"See?" Kirk clapped his hands together. "It's just a bonus that these clothes are so awesome."

"If you say so, Jim," McCoy rolled his eyes.

"I do. But you don't have to take my word for it, we have a lady present." He indicated Denise with a sweep of his hand. "Marshall, we look totally awesome, right?"

"Captain, you look _fabulous_." A slightly impish smile crossed her face as she surveyed the men. "In fact, someone should make those leather pants a uniform option for men, just like the miniskirts are for women."

_Please, God, no, and don't give the Captain any ideas. _Giotto widened his eyes at her. "We'll take your word for it, Lieutenant."

"This finishes the outfit." She returned to business by handing out the remaining chain necklaces. "This is what you'll gift to your Shagrean counterpart as a symbol of esteem. He should give you a similar one in return. Do _not_ - I repeat, **_not_ **- look directly at any of the women present or you may receive one of them as a gift instead."

McCoy cocked an eyebrow at Kirk. "Maybe we should get you some dark glasses to go with that rock star outfit."

"Silver necklace, scantily clad woman…" Jim made a weighing motion with his hands that clearly indicated his preference.

The Doctor swatted him.

"Hey, I was only joking," Kirk protested. "I can keep my eyes to myself. Trust me I get lots of practice around here with that miniskirt option. There are way too many fine ladies on this ship." He smirked a little and winked at Denise.

Her eyebrows rose and Sam could almost hear her wishing that she'd gone to med school. He was feeling just a bit envious of the CMO's complete disregard for rank as well.

"Da, _wery_ fine," Oblivious, Chekhov flashed a cheeky grin and winked too.

Denise pinched the bridge of her nose. If this was any indication, Kirk and Chekhov 'selling' a bad boy/rock god look was going to mean trouble - and probably a lot of overtime.

"_Mr. Chekhov_," Spock's voice rang in command tone. "That is hardly the appropriate behavior toward a fellow officer."

God bless their XO. It was what Giotto should have done if hadn't been resisting the sudden urge to smack a teenager.

"Sorry, sair." Chekhov snapped to attention, blushing furiously. "Sorry, ma'am."

Realizing that the rebuke tacitly included him, the Captain ducked his head. "Forgive me, Lieutenant, I'm not sure where that came from but it won't happen again."

"I'm not offended, sir, but I _am_ concerned about where it came from. There is a very old saying: You put on the leather pants and the pants start telling you what to do." She lifted an eyebrow, looking levelly at all of them. "Before anyone starts listening to the pants again, I suggest that you consider very carefully that if any of you come back with a Shagrean concubine, _I_ am _not_ going to be one to explain it to Adm. Lui."

Marshall let that sink in a moment before nodding curtly. "Good luck with the mission gentlemen."

Giotto caught the quick 'please keep them in line' look as she walked out and smiled to himself. If he could manage to get everyone back without an intergalactic incident and minus concubines, there was a very good chance she'd help peel him out the pants.

* * *

_AN: This is for **DarkEidelon** who shared a funny story about leather pants and offered 10 million points for every character I could get in leather pants and 15 bajillion points if I could find a situation that required Giotto to wear them. (According to the rules, Kirk doesn't count, because 'he'd take one look at the pants and say 'Yes, Please, and Thank You')._

_Adm. Gretchen Lui is the only female admiral shown in the alternate time line.  
_

_I'll give 10 million points to anyone who knows which rock star is responsible for the 'very old saying' that Denise quotes._

_Please r&r_


	6. Not Looking

**Not Looking**

_Because trouble can turn up even when you're really trying not to look for it_

_

* * *

_

Kirk watched as Giotto moved ahead to check over their destination. Dressed in black leather and chains, he looked a like a street tough casing the joint - except for the frosting of silver in an almost military haircut and something about the way he carried himself that practically screamed Starfleet Security. Jim was sure that last part was deliberate - Sam's way of following Marshall's warning not to let the leather pants start telling him what to do.

Not a bad idea. They had to carry off the outfits the locals had sent as gifts, but they also had to make damned sure they didn't come back with any of the local women as gifts. Given the clothes, that wasn't as easy as it sounded. Jim couldn't help feeling cool and rock-god-sexy in the tight striped leather pants and fur-fringed vest. (He had every intention of wearing this outfit for the next shore leave - if nothing else to see the look on the Bones' and Giotto's faces). But for now, he had to be all business. Kirk fell back to the rest of the group.

"Vas Ms. Marshall serious about Adm. Lui?" Chekhov asked nervously. Pavel had been pretty pysched about his own bad boy look until Spock had chastised him for a borderline pass at Denise. Her threat of leaving him on his own to face Adm. Lui's displeasure if he stared at the women down here and wound up with a Shagrean concubine had sobered the young man considerably.

"Lt. Marshall may find a diplomatic resolution for an ...unwanted gift," Spock replied flatly. "However, there is no reason she should be obligated to intervene with the admiral for another officer's lack of judgment or restraint."

Chekhov swallowed hard. He had a place on this mission, but Kirk felt bad. Subjecting a 17-year-old to a lot of half-naked women that he wasn't allowed to look at probably fell under some definition of 'cruel and unusual'. Of course subjecting himself to the same thing considering that it had been months since the last planet where he'd gotten any action (of the good variety) was also going to be brutal.

"According to Mr. Giotto," Spock continued placidly. "Adm. Lui had most of her right knee replaced because an ensign became distracted by an attractive woman and missed the signs of an ambush. It would be logical to assume that she has very little tolerance for officers who allow their eyes to wander."

"Explains a lot about why Lui isn't so fond of you Jim," McCoy drawled.

"I'm not that bad," Kirk protested. Okay, at the Academy maybe he had been, but _someone_ ought to give him a little credit for showing so much self-control when it came to his crew. On that score, the worst he'd done in close to a year was flirt a little with Dr. Noel at the Christmas party. "Anyway, there's nothing to worry about."

Bones scowled. "Jim, you've been strutting around like a damn peacock since you put on that ridiculous outfit."

"Hey, just because the ladies will be checking me out, doesn't mean I'll look at them."

The tiny incline of one slanted eyebrow silently questioned that statement and McCoy cocked a concurring brow. "Spock, I think maybe you should stick close to Chekhov to remind him to keep eyes forward. I'll do the same with Jim."

"Really?" Kirk huffed. "Spock's Vulcan but who's going to keep an eye on you? And I notice no one seems to be worried about Sam."

"I'm glad you don't think I'm too old to notice women, sir." Jim nearly jumped. Giotto had appeared right behind him. "But the Doctor and I have both been married - we've had some practice at not looking."

.

* * *

They walked into the hall and Kirk instantly regretted his confidence. The place was like an Orion pleasure dome with a Conan the Barbarian theme. The men were all dressed in leather pants and vests like the ones they wore, but the women wore slim strips of leather and chain placed in ways that made Orion fashion look modest. A man near the door was literally weighing a woman's ...assets.

Jim tore his eyes away. Oh God. It had been a long time. Not looking was going to harder than he'd thought.

"Eyes forward Ensign." Spock's voice was low and obviously directed at Chekhov, but Jim took it as good advice.

"Ah, Captain Kirk," a tall Shagrean man decked in brown leather and bronze chains swept a hand in a welcoming gesture. "I am Nohan. You are bid to join us at the high table. Please follow."

Kirk felt a hand on his shoulder. "Subordinates walk ahead," Giotto reminded him _sotto voce_.

Jim nodded and concentrated on his men as they filed past ahead of him. It was a long walk to the high table at the end of the hall and the Shagrean women glided seductively around the tables along the way. He could feel their eyes on him, watching the visitors and their leader in particular. Powerful men were desirable, even more so in this culture. (And let's face it, he was not only powerful but totally hot in the tight leather pants). Knowing that any number of these women were not just willing but would consider catching him a huge win was almost as alluring as Orion pheromones...

_No_. Eyes forward.

A woman wearing little more than a band of leather to support her breasts dashed along the curving aisle beside them and the instinct to lock on sudden motion drew his eyes right to her. Nice. Would having a concubine really be that bad...?

Spock cleared his throat, probably for Chekhov's benefit.

Right. Full stop. Admiral Lui would probably find (or write) some regulation permitting castration for collecting alien concubines.

The same woman spun into the arms of a man ahead who ran his hand across her bare...

_Focus_. He had to find something to focus on to keep his eyes from being drawn elsewhere. Something that would not make him think about sexy, willing... Argh. Jim dug his nails into the palms of his hands.

Eyes forward. Spock was right in front of him. Bad bowl haircut, pointed ears, blue-grey vest hanging from shoulders to trim waist and tight leather clad butt... Ack! No, focusing on Spock was not a good idea. Thank God Uhura wasn't on this mission. No, stop, _definitely_ do not think of her in leather and chains.

Chekhov was in front of Spock, staring carefully upward as though completely absorbed in calculating the parameters of the roof's design. Who knows? Maybe that was the Russian genius's way of not looking elsewhere. It was kind of cute really in a not-quite-innocent almost past jailbait way... Gah! Not Chekhov.

Bones was just ahead of Chekhov, walking in that smooth southern amble, his head bent just a little as though absorbed in thought. Jim's best friend, former roomie, drinking buddy and wingman, someone he never thought of except platonically. Well, except for that one time when they'd both gotten seriously hammered and woke up naked, but _probably_ nothing had happened... No. Jim sighed. Not Bones either.

Giotto was at point. Kirk stopped before his overheated brain could take a wrong turn there. Giotto had an uncanny knack for picking up on what people were thinking and creeping his Security Chief out was definitely to be avoided. Besides, Pike had become like a father to Jim, which made Sam sort of like an uncle. Yeah. That was better. Uncle Sam - solid, dependable, and very good at not looking, or not appearing to look, anywhere he shouldn't.

How did he do that? Giotto even kept his eyes on Marshall's face when (and Jim had enough experience with women to be pretty sure about this) she occasionally tried to get him to notice other parts. Which was a mystery since Jim was almost certain something had finally happened between them on Omnicron Ceti III even if everything had gone back to such a state of normal a few days later that he could only conclude that they had both decided to be way too mature about a spore-induced fling. Well, he and Bones had decided to forget that waking up naked together incident... No. No, not going there.

Spock stopped and Jim looked up and realized they were at the high table. Ha! He'd made it without ever looking directly at a single nubile Shagrean babe. Kirk grinned. They were going to negotiate mining rights with the head men, have nice meal and get back to the ship with no problems.

.

* * *

Giotto glanced up, quickly surveying the room without looking at anyone in particular. It was a well practiced routine that allowed him to note any change from his last scan that might indicate trouble. So far, all had gone well, but given their usual luck he had no intention of relaxing his vigilance. He finished by looking at his companions. The Captain had looked a little flushed by the time they'd been seated, but had apparently managed to keep his libido in check. In fact, by the time the women had begun bringing serving trays, Kirk had not only ignored them, but assumed a rock star's dismissive disdain for fawning admirers. Sam was impressed - and relieved.

The only other concern had been Chekhov. He'd originally been worried that the shy teenager might be too bashful to function in this environment. When the kid had shown up primping in the leather outfit, worry had taken an altogether different turn. However, a well-placed fear of Adm. Lui (and possibly the fact that Sam had caught himself bristling when the kid had winked at Denise) had served to keep Chekhov on the straight and narrow. Once they got down to business, he'd served his role perfectly. Spock could have discussed the scientific and trade ramifications of the pergeum in the local hills, but not with the smiling excitement and guileless enthusiasm of the young Russian. He seemed to have won the Shagrean head men over completely.

"A drink to our accord," Nohan announced.

The woman bearing the carafe of local wine rushed to pour and slipped, somehow landing right in the Captain's lap. Kirk reflexively caught her and then compounded matters by smiling and assuring her it was okay as she wiped at the wine on his chest.

Frak. Sam resisted an urge to pound his head on the table. They'd been doing so well.

Nohan smiled. "The time for exchanging gifts is past, but you have told us much of use Kirk. Take her with my compliments."

McCoy cussed under his breath as the woman threw her arms around the Captain, who froze like a man who had just stepped on a trip wire.

From his position Giotto caught a smug little smile on the woman's face and a sudden suspicion hit him. A smart woman in this world could use the rules to her advantage and going from serving wench to even an alien head man's woman was a real step up. He was about to intervene when

Kirk recovered.

"You are too generous Nohan. I cannot accept."

"Do not shame me by refusal." The woman gazed imploringly at Kirk, a tear forming in her eye as she pressed her body to his. "I swear I will please you."

Oh, she was good. A near pitch perfect mix of playmate and lady in distress. It was almost a shame to refuse her - a little training and SI could probably turn her into an asset - but Giotto had been prepared to deal with a slip (although not quite such a literal one).

"There is no shame. He _cannot_ accept. Our voyage is long and the ship can only accommodate so many. The Captain has had women offered at almost every port. Some even throw themselves at him," Sam added with a thin smile. "We can't take them all."

"No wonder you've been so guarded! I almost thought you had no interest in women!" Nohan laughed out loud. "Well, Saji, it was a good try and you did catch their leader's eye. You'll be welcome in my house - my son could use a smart woman." He leaned toward Giotto, tufted eyebrows raised a bit as he whispered, "Young men - they never know what to look for."

* * *

_AN: Both _**The Breeze**_ and _**superkim111**_ wanted a follow-up to the last chapter, so here it is. This veered significantly from what I started and is a bit more slashy than I usually write, but Kirk is irrepressible and I never know where the character is going to go when I start writing from his pov. _

_The reference to Omnicron Ceti III is to _'This Side of Paradise' _in _Vol. II_._

_Please r&r._


	7. New Friends and Old

**New Friends and Old**

_Because __you may be able to handle your enemies, but your friends are another story...  
_

_

* * *

_

Cmdr. Giotto waited patiently, or at least with as much semblance of patience as he could muster, while his Captain flirted with yet another saleswoman. Normally he would have assigned Jenkins or Groesner to handle something like this, but neither they nor any of the young people that made up the majority of his department had been to Sanoda before and Sam had multiple times. It was a pleasant enough world, but deceptively so since the proximity to Klingon space made it a (theoretically secret) base of operations for Starfleet Intelligence as well as the analogous intelligence divisions of several other quasi-military and governmental entities, the Klingons included. Leaving James T. Kirk to wander around on his own, or even with other officers who might not know what to watch for, had seemed like an idea that could not even begin to be described by the adjective 'bad'.

The worst part was that Sam wasn't allowed to tell any of them more than what was patently obvious – that the Empire probably kept a close eye on this place. At the end of his last stint working with SI, it had been made exceptionally clear that anything and everything he'd done, seen, or even guessed at, was to be regarded as classified information. Giotto had been a Security Chief for a long time and was thoroughly comfortable with the idea of keeping anything not plainly need-to-know under wraps, but he found orders to withhold information that his crewmates might actually need seriously annoying. It was one of several reasons that he'd gladly returned to regular 'fleet service.

"Okay, Chief," A hand landed on his shoulder and Giotto stifled an urge to react. He was not by any stretch of the imagination what might be called a touchy-feely person. In fact, Spock was probably the only person on the ship with a more well-defined sense of personal space – not that it deterred Kirk in either case.

The Captain grinned, either oblivious or deliberately ignoring the mildly long-suffering look Giotto aimed at him. "Let's grab some lunch before we hit the next supply broker." He glanced over his shoulder as they left, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "If we stay past dinner, that one said she might have a friend for you."

Several of the phrases he'd heard the doctor use ran through Sam's head, but he limited his response to a look that said 'You must be joking'.

"What?" Kirk laughed. "She said her friend was cute. If she'd said 'nice personality' I wouldn't even have mentioned it."

"I believe I'll pass, sir." He not only had no interest whatsoever in meeting a woman on this planet or - God forbid - being set up on a blind date with one, but agreeing to a double date with Jim Kirk was something Sam was likely to do only after hell bore a significant resemblance to Delta Vega.

Kirk looked at him sideways, grinning slyly. "For someone who's not seeing anyone, you don't seem too interested in exploring possibilities."

Giotto shook his head, fighting a smile. "If you think I'm going to respond to a ploy that obvious, I'm going to ask the doctor to check you for controlled substances when we get back."

For both personal and professional reasons, Sam drew some pretty firm lines when it came to answering questions about his private life. Much like Chris Pike before him, Kirk seemed to take that as a challenge. With Chris it had been a sort of game since they had come up through the ranks together, but with Kirk, Sam had tried repeatedly to discourage it. Giving up, however, was not in Kirk's nature and giving in was not in Giotto's, so it was turning into a game between them as well.

"Right," Kirk chuckled. "Well, at least we can use her recommendation for a restaurant. It's right down this way."

Giotto stopped, suddenly hit by an uneasy sense of being watched. "Actually, I know of a pretty good place back the way we came."

"Come on, Chief, try something new."

Kirk started to step across an alleyway and Giotto took a quick step to get just ahead of him. In the next instant Sam found himself subjected to full body contact of an invasive, but decidedly non-hostile variety.

"Sam!"

It took a beat to reorient, but once he caught the color at the roots of the fuchsia dye job pressed into his face, he pulled his assailant away by the shoulders, laughing. "Where did _you_ come from?"

"Miss me?" A deceptively young-looking woman dressed to kill in the sense of local styles (and Giotto was quite certain in the literal sense as well) grinned at him.

"Not much," Sam deadpanned.

"Well _that_ just goes to show that you still don't know what's good for you, darling." It was a society lady's use of 'darling', said with one palm swept downward as the other took his arm and turned him back the way they'd come. "You and your _adorable_ friend here," she smiled coquettishly at Kirk, "were heading toward a _very_ low rent side of town - no place at all for officers to be seen." She gave Sam a sly smirk. "I won't bother to accuse you of being a gentleman."

Amusement was written all over Kirk's face despite some effort to contain a grin. Giotto rolled his eyes. "Just follow her. Trust me, it'll be easier."

"Come along," she nearly sang and Kirk jumped in surprise as she passed him.

Sam bit his cheeks trying not to laugh. If he knew Carmichael, she had just pinched his Captain's ass - her idea of just compensation for leading them away from an area where Starfleet officers shouldn't be seen.

"There is _the_ most delightful café up ahead, Sam - completely new since you were here last," she continued. "I simply can't _wait_ for all my friends to see that I've reeled you back in, and your cute friend here as a bonus!"

In other words, she was taking them to some recently secured location, where SI could keep an eye on them. Despite her flippant act, Sam could practically feel the urgency to get there radiating from where her hands were laced around his arm. That SI wasn't the only group watching them was a dead certainty.

Giotto smiled at her indulgently, playing the 'fleet officer amused by the antics of the socialite he dallied with in this port. The act was aided by Kirk's expression, which was shifting between sly and bewildered as he tried to figure out the relationship between the woman who had just blatantly pinched him and the older officer she was clinging to in a familiar-bordering-on-intimate fashion. Sam silently wished him luck. The last time he'd allowed that relationship to vary from strictly professional, he'd been just as confused.

They turned into an elegant high-rise, but when Carmichael activated the lift, it took them down. Giotto noticed the momentary flicker that showed they were being scanned, and confident that they were out of danger, started to reclaim his arm.

"You're no fun at all, Sam," she accused with a small pout and then switched to Kirk, flashing a predatory smile. "This one looks like he might be though." The lift opened and she led them through a trendy underground pub, waving to a waiter. "Max, bring a round and three specials to my booth!"

She settled into a semi-private booth near the back, patting the seat for Kirk to sit down beside her. Giotto slid in across from them trying not to enjoy (too much) the fact that the Captain for once looked decidedly uncertain about how to respond to a flirtatious woman.

"Up there I'm Katerina Mikhailova." Carmichael stuck her nose in the air. "But down here, you can call me K."

"Jim," the Captain offered. "Jim Kirk. So how do you know Sam?"

An evil grin crossed her face. "Bibl-"

"We did some volunteer work together," Giotto cut in, raising his eyebrows. "A _very_ _long_ time ago."

Carmichael made a face at him. She'd read human to any cursory med scan, but a mixed heritage meant that she looked more than a decade younger than her 44 years (and had a few other advantages besides). Of course, the genetic anomalies meant she wouldn't live nearly as long as a normal human, but given both her career and devil-may-care lifestyle, odds were against K dying of natural causes.

"You've gotten stuffy since you went back to regular 'fleet, Sam."

"Went back?" The Captain looked even more confused.

Giotto knew Kirk had memorized the records of every member of his crew and there were no breaks in service listed in his. He widened his eyes at Carmichael.

"He's a captain," she shrugged. "He's got enough clearance to know that much especially since I had to help you pull him back from walking into a trap."

She held up a hand before Kirk could ask. Max appeared a moment later with three hot plates and an equal number of beers. K waved a hand, dropping back into the socialite persona. "The ale's brewed on site and simply wonderful. I promise this will be much better than that diner you were heading for." She looked the Captain in the eye. "The food there would have positively _poisoned_ you."

Kirk's eyes shifted to his and Giotto nodded. "She would know."

"Thank you." Kirk examined his plate. McCoy would never let them hear the end of it if he avoided actual poisoning only to have some weird allergic reaction. Fortunately the special was a French dip with a side of fries. He took a bite and his eyes half-lidded with an expression of near ecstasy. "Real beef! Oh God, Sam, I _like_ your girlfriend."

Giotto and K exchanged a look and laughed out loud. "He's so _cute_," she cooed. "Can I keep him, Sam? Please?"

"He's not a puppy K."

A slow grin spread on Kirk's face as he watched their interaction and mentally shifted K into the category of fair game. His eyes swept her lean figure. "I wouldn't mind following you home though."

Oh Lord. Sam looked skyward. _Free to a good home: One captain, mostly grown. Housebroken but prone to stray…_

K toyed with the neck of her bottle, giving Kirk a smoldering look. "Maybe after lunch, we can discuss dessert…"

Giotto dipped a fry in _au jus_ and considered his beer. If he was going to be stuck listening to two inveterate players trade double entendres he was going to need something a _lot_ stronger. "We have one more batch of supplies to secure, but if there's a reason for concern, I should get the Captain back to the ship."

"Don't worry. I'll make sure he's in good hands." She gave Giotto a suggestive grin. "You could be too."

"Pass." Even less likely than agreeing to a double date with Kirk would be agreeing to a threesome, particularly with Carmichael as the third.

"You've turned into an absolute _Puritan_," she sighed, rolling her eyes dramatically. "My driver can help you with that last batch of supplies. I'll take _very_ good care of Jim until you get back." The Captain paused suddenly in mid-chew and Sam attempted to keep a straight face despite a reasonably good idea of where K had put the hand she had under the table.

Giotto schooled his features to careful ignorance. "Or he could just beam back to the ship."

"_No_," Kirk swallowed hastily and flashed a grin. "I mean, that's not necessary. I'm sure I'll be just fine here."

"Marvelous – it's all decided then," K smiled smugly. "Excuse me, I should go make some arrangements."

The Captain slid out allowing her to leave. He watched her glide away with a catwalk stride before resuming his seat. "So, is she…?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny."

"But she said you –"

"Neither. Confirm. Nor. Deny." Giotto took a bite of sandwich and chewed pointedly.

"Right," Kirk watched him, a small smile edging onto his face. "But the two of you –"

"Classified."

"I wasn't going ask about working together."

Sam looked at him levelly. "It's _all_ classified."

"Uh-huh," Kirk chuckled. "You old dog, most guys would brag."

"No. Trust me," Giotto said carefully. "Before you leave, someone will explain to you that none of this ever happened. If pressed, you can say that we ran into an old friend of mine who bought us lunch. At best, you might recall that she was stylish, possibly well-off, but you probably wouldn't recognize her if you saw her again."

"Jeez, there's got to be a better alibi." The Captain gestured disbelief. "Who's going to believe I didn't notice a woman like that?"

"Like I said, an _old_ friend of mine," Sam allowed himself a small smile. "Anyone _I've_ known that long would obviously be too old to register on your sensors."

Kirk laughed. "Was she even legal when-" He stopped at the look Giotto gave him. "Right. Classified. But you're okay about this? I mean, it seems like she's still interested and she's pretty hot…"

Sam shrugged. Carmichael was actually a bit on thin side for his personal definition of 'hot', but she was attractive. Or at least compelling. Like a snake. "Just be careful, she…" He paused, thinking of how to put this. K was a good agent - deeply loyal to the Federation, almost suicidally devoted to the people she worked with, but she tended to treat lovers like rented recreational equipment.

"She what?"

Giotto looked back at the man across the table from him and nearly laughed. What exactly was he worried about? They were practically made for each other.

"Never mind," he took a sip of beer. "It's probably classified anyway."

* * *

_AN: 'Should auld acquaintance be forgot...' belated Happy New Year!  
_

_I really owed Jim a little fun after torturing him in the last chapter, but this story has been brewing for awhile. After McCoy and Jessy surprised him in _Sneakin' Around_, _**chaoticmom**_ asked if there was any chance of Jim getting a secret romance of his own and _**RogueAngel**_ commented that Giotto sometimes seems like an intelligence operative with the way he works all the angles. Of course someone like Sam would have had some experience working with Starfleet Intelligence, so I realized at least one story had to show a little of that background. The two ideas collided and here's the result._

_Please r&r._


	8. Cat's Paw

**Cat's Paw**

_Because __any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic and there are low tech solutions for both  
_

* * *

Giotto looked around the dungeon. He was chained to the wall for the second time since they'd gotten here and if he weren't so worried about the rest of the landing party, he'd be getting a little bored. In fact, he halfway wondered if their hosts were saving him for last because he'd been so thoroughly unimpressed with their efforts to spook him.

Whoever's subconscious they'd pulled this scenario from had obviously never been in a real dungeon. Giotto had and despite the fact the shackles that held him were real enough, the dungeon itself was lacking. There was an iron maiden, rack and (medical office clean) skeleton in an iron cage. What there wasn't (significantly) was the stench of decay or even the fetid smell Sam had learned to expect in primitive prisons. It was as though someone had tried to create the archtype of Dungeon using only visual props from early 20th century horror films.

That pretty much fit with the rest of what they'd encountered. After beaming down they'd trudged through fog until encountering spectral 'witches three' (whose chanted warning had clearly _not_ been written by Shakespeare). Then they'd found a late night scary movie type haunted castle, complete with door creaking open to reveal an eerie light ('Oh goody, there's a light in the Frankenstein castle', McCoy had snarked). As the Captain had observed, if Jackson weren't dead and Scotty, Sulu and now McCoy turned into zombies, this would all feel like an elaborate Halloween prank.

Sam tested the shackles again. No luck – those were accurate enough to hold him.

Kirk looked over from where he was similarly chained. "Still think coming instead of Spock was a good idea Chief?"

"I'd say I've had more prior experience being chained to a wall than Mr. Spock," Giotto answered dryly and tried another pull at the chains. "And I doubt Vulcan strength would be enough to get out of these."

And the truth, strange it might seem, was that he'd rather be here, where he at least knew to some extent what was going on, than be left the highest ranking officer on the ship while the Captain, XO, CMO and Chief Engineer as well as the helmsman were held on the planet below and the ship encased in some 'magic' force field. Chained to a wall or not, Sam did not envy Spock. He did however take a certain comfort in knowing that their Vulcan science officer was the one in charge of finding a way to break through whatever Clarke's 3rd law version of magic was at work here.

"Yeah," Kirk sighed. "And I doubt Spock would have had any better luck seducing Sylvia into releasing us."

The Captain had apparently been returned un-zombified because the local enchantress had been too hacked off to drain his will after she'd caught on to the seduction ploy. Blowing that seemed to be bothering Kirk almost as much as being chained up again.

Sam tilted an eyebrow. "Honestly, sir, if you failed, I think that approach is pretty much off the table."

"Thanks," Kirk grinned wryly. "It's really tough to put the moves on a chick who can sense what you're actually thinking."

Giotto gave a short chuckle and tried to suppress his reaction. That was the one part of this that did make his skin crawl. The aliens didn't seem to be capable of true telepathy, but the prospect of a mind probe, even one limited to emotions and the subconscious, was decidedly unsettling.

The other alien, a fat bald man in a technicolor wizard's robe, slipped into the dungeon holding a scepter-like wand. "I've released the model of your ship from the crystal, although they would have freed themselves soon. It's difficult to control so many things in so little time." He quickly unlocked the cuffs and handed Giotto a phaser and Kirk a communicator. "Here. You must go before she finds the weapon is missing."

Kirk stood his ground. "I'm not leaving without my men Korob."

"They're not your men anymore." Korob wrung the scepter's handle anxiously. "They belong to Sylvia. I can no longer control them or her. She's irrational - the strain of adapting to your form, the insatiable desire for sensation and experience. She's a great danger and it was not necessary. We could have entered your galaxy in peace."

"You came in a ship?" Giotto asked. If they could find it, that might give them a bargaining chip.

"We used the transmuter."

"Transmuter," Kirk nodded. "Yes, she mentioned that."

Korob began waving them out the door. "There's no time to explain now. She means to destroy us all. There might still be a chance. Quickly. Come."

"Staying here in a dungeon won't help the others, Captain."

"You're right, Chief." Kirk followed Korob as they threaded along the castle corridor.

The shadow of a giant cat fell across the passage ahead accompanied by an exceptionally loud hiss.

Kirk shook his head. "Seriously? A giant cat?"

"Predator," Giotto observed. "Although a giant house cat instead of a lion or tiger is an odd choice if she's trying to scare us." He was beginning to wonder if Sylvia had really tapped someone's subconscious or just picked up ancient TV signals showing low-budget horror films.

Korob stepped forward, holding up the wand. "I think I can stop her."

"Let us," Kirk signaled and Giotto fired the phaser.

Nothing. He checked the indicator. Damn. "It's drained, sir."

"She's one of my kind. It's my problem. Come quickly." Korob hustled them back into the dungeon.

At least this time, they weren't chained and Giotto had had plenty of time to consider escape routes while he had been. He pointed at the ceiling where the trap door they'd fallen through was still hanging open.

Kirk measured the distance with his eyes. "Do you think you can make it?"

Sam gave him a look. "Wait here. I'll pull you up."

As Giotto hauled himself over the edge, Korob yelled 'No! Get Back!"

Kirk's warning that the door wouldn't hold was cut off by the sound of it tearing off its hinges. Sam spun around lying flat to reach through the hole. Korob was crushed under the door – you didn't need to be a doctor to see there wasn't much hope for him – his final 'Go' was little more than a death rattle.

"Captain, quickly."

Kirk took the scepter and tossed it up. "Korob seemed to think this was important. Said something about a transmuter."

Sam caught it and set it aside. "Now you." So far Sylvia had been too enraged to consider that a less gigantic cat that would just fit through the door could still do some serious damage to a man, but there was no use pressing their luck.

"If you can make it, so can I." Kirk waved him back with a smirk and took a running leap, using a cot frame as a trampoline to propel toward the opening. He grimaced trying to shift from a bare grip on the edge to where he could pull himself up.

Stubborn kid. Giotto grabbed his arms and hauled him the rest of the way up. "It's not a competition sir."

"That doesn't mean I'm going to let you win." Kirk grinned and rolled onto his back. "Now if we can just find the others."

McCoy came around the corner behind the Captain, holding a morningstar like a bat. "Captain!" Giotto yelled.

"Dammit Bones!" Kirk launched himself, tackling McCoy and knocking him out before he could swing (probably a good thing – he was as likely to hurt himself as the Captain trying to wield a morningstar that way).

Giotto rolled to his feet and dodged Scotty's weapon, countering with a punch that dropped the engineer. Sam flexed his hand a moment. The Scotsman had a hard jaw.

Sulu came behind Scotty, unarmed but posed in an awkward horse stance, one hand already forward in a punch instead of both held in ready posture. Obviously whatever Sylvia had done to their minds had left the helmsman with little more than a child's concept of karate. Just as well. Sam had a feeling they didn't have much time. He deliberately moved into range and side-stepped grabbing Sulu's leg and throwing him as soon as he kicked. Half-hypnotized, Hikaru didn't have the presence of mind to roll – he hit the floor with a thud and lay still.

The Captain checked his helmsman. "A little rough there Chief."

"I'll buy him a drink later. Now that we're all together sir…"

"Way ahead of you," Kirk began to pull out the communicator.

"MRROWL!"

Frak. Giant black cat at 3 o'clock. Giotto grabbed McCoy's weapon and moved in front of the Captain, trying to buy enough time.

Kirk pushed past him, waving the scepter/wand. "Sylvia, I have the transmuter. It's mine now."

The cat dissolved into a woman. "You're very clever, Captain. More so than I'd imagined," she purred, gliding toward them with a seductive smile. "Clever, resourceful _and_ handsome."

The Captain paused.

Oh no, not now. Giotto swung the morningstar, smashing it down on the scepter's crystal tip. It exploded in a flash of blue light.

Suddenly they were standing on Pyrus VII's empty, rocky terrain staring down at two finger-sized aliens that looked like shrimp in little fuzzy blue dresses. As Scotty, McCoy and Sulu began to come around, the aliens collapsed into smoldering husks.

Kirk gave Giotto a hurt look. "I wasn't hypnotized Chief. I would have smashed the transmuter myself."

"I don't doubt that you intended to, sir, but their power was modeled on old earth legends about magic." Sam shrugged. "In all the ones I recall, a well-applied mundane weapon beats an evil enchantress every time."

* * *

_AN: __Clarke's 3__rd__ law: 'Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic'. One of Murphy's military laws is that the higher tech the weapon, the lower the tech level of the easiest countermeasure.  
_

**Saphura**_(look for her _The Official List of Unofficial Rules _in my favorites) __requested more TOS reboots. I hadn't originally planned on doing_ 'Cat's Paw', _but I saw an old B-movie horror flick recently and it made me think of it._

_Bonus points for anyone who gets the _Rocky Horror_ reference._

_Please r&r_


	9. Tomorrow is Yesterday

**Tomorrow is Yesterday**

_Because leaving footprints in time is a bad idea if you're from the future_

_

* * *

_

Cmdr. Giotto sat in the conference room listening to Sulu's report with a growing sense of frustration. To say that they were having a bad day would be like saying a white star was a little bit hot. Worse yet, the day in question was happening almost 300 years in the past.

It was bad luck to be superstitious but Sam was beginning to wonder if crossing the giant black cat on Pyrus VII hadn't jinxed them. First they'd nearly been smashed to component particles by being sucked into the gravity well of a black star (how they'd gotten that close to the star before realizing they were being drawn in was beyond comprehension), then the attempted breakaway had sent them sling-shotting through time and space to arrive, against all probability, in mid-20th century US air space. Apparently Ambassador 'Selek' had been right about the _Enterprise_ having an affinity for that era in earth's history.

To make matters worse, they'd picked up two passengers from the time period, one of whom had nearly escaped the ship after getting the drop on Ensign Korba (who would soon be spending some serious quality time in the training room reviewing proper procedures). Furthermore, that passenger, a US Air Force Captain, had shot footage of the _Enterprise_, so the Captain had gone down with Sulu to steal the tapes, resulting in their second inadvertent passenger being beamed aboard and - of course - Kirk being captured. The 'Captain's option' excuse for Kirk running off into situations where he almost invariably wound up injured and/or taken prisoner was starting to really get under Giotto's skin.

"He's probably being held in the security section," Captain Christopher, their first unfortunate guest, advised. "Even if they've notified the authorities, it'll take a little time for someone to get there."

Quite logical, Captain," Spock agreed. "Can you give us the co-ordinates to beam down a landing party near those interrogation rooms?"

Christopher leaned in. "Yes, but you're not going to get them unless you take me with you."

"I cannot do that, Captain."

"In case you're forgettin'," McCoy drawled. "There's a son you need to have for our future to happen. If something went wrong..."

"Something's already gone wrong," Christopher retorted. "Of course, you _could_ beam down anywhere inside that base, but it would take time to find him."

Spock pursed his lips, considering. "Mister Sulu, you and Captain Christopher will beam down with me."

"_No_," Giotto said flatly.

Spock's eyebrows rose is surprise.

Sam raised his back. Spock was in command but enough was enough. "All due respect Mr. Spock, but this timeline is in enough trouble without adding the potential for First Contact with Vulcans a century before it's supposed to happen. We're talking about the US Strategic Air Command base in the middle of the Cold War. Even if you get in and out successfully, there will be security cameras, especially in and around the interrogation rooms. We can't risk creating more tapes that need to be stolen or erased."

"A logical objection Mr. Giotto," Spock conceded. "However I submit that a human rescue party will face the same difficulty as we will not be able to beam in or out without creating a problematic record of transporter technology."

"We don't need to transport into the base security section Mr. Spock, nor do we need to risk bringing Capt. Christopher," Giotto looked at the pilot. That he'd been planning to use this as an excuse to escape and report to his superiors was as plain as the nose on his face (and it was exactly what Sam would do if he was in the same position). "You'll forgive me, Captain, for trusting you to do precisely what you're obligated to do - especially since you've already put one of my men in sickbay attempting just that."

"You'll never find where they're holding your Captain without my help," Christopher countered. "What do you plan to do - walk in and ask them to take you to him?"

Giotto gave him a thin smile. He'd taken the older Spock's advice to read up on this era. "As a matter of fact: yes."

.

* * *

"Right this way gentlemen."

Giotto nodded curtly and Jenkins fell in beside him as they followed the officer on duty. They hadn't even needed Uhura to intercept a confirmation call. Their guide had practically fallen over himself to escort them. It was amazing what you get away with in this era if you had excellent reproductions of CIA IDs and looked the part. Sam could certainly carry off playing an intel officer and while his Second lacked that experience, Jenkins was American and practically had 'purebred WASP' stamped on his forehead - something the Connecticut Yankee took a certain amount of ribbing for in the mixed and multicultural 23rd century, but essentially a 'get in no questions asked' card in the mid-20th century United States.

"This is the room. Col. Fellini is in there with the prisoner now."

"Thank you," Giotto said solemnly. "The Agency appreciates your help in expediting this matter."

"Just doing my job, sir." The young man turned smartly and headed back to his station.

Sam waited a beat and then looked at Jenkins. "We're inside Dan. You can take off the dark glasses."

Jenkins complied a little unhappily (Sam had feeling he was going to see the G-man suit and shades again the next time there was an excuse for a costume party). They paused a moment at the door.

Inside someone was yelling. "All right, Kirk. Maybe this will make you laugh: sabotage, espionage, unauthorized entry, burglary. How are those for starters? And I can think up lots more if you don't start talking."

"All right, Colonel. The truth is I'm a little green man from Alpha Centauri," the Captain's voice dripped sarcasm. "A beautiful place. You ought to see it."

"I am going to lock you up for _two hundred years_," the other voice growled.

"That ought to be just about right," Kirk sighed just as Giotto opened the door.

The Colonel looked up angrily. "What's the meaning of this? Who are you?"

"CIA," Giotto flashed his ID. "Agents Giotto and Jenkins – we've come to collect the prisoner."

The Colonel bristled. "Why wasn't I informed?"

"Your base has been infiltrated Colonel," Giotto explained flatly, allowing enough hint of condescension to establish his authority here. "We're not in habit of broadcasting our movements over channels that may have been compromised."

"Time is of the essence," Jenkins added. "We need to get this man and get out – under the radar - before his _comrades_ try to retrieve him."

Fellini looked at them sharply. "Comrades?"

"He may look like a kid from Iowa, but trust me, Colonel, this man is a Soviet agent." Sam gave the Captain a knowing smile. "Isn't that right?"

Kirk sat back and crossed his arms dramatically. "Chekhov, Pavel Andreievich." The imitation would probably have made the real Chekhov wince. "Zerial number: 656-5827B. You vill get nozhing more vrom me."

"We'll see about that," Dan picked up the communicator lying on the table. "But even if you don't crack, we should be able to get all we really need from this."

"Recording device with a camera built in," Giotto explained to Fellini in a confidential tone.

The Colonel looked shocked. "I had no idea they had that sort of thing."

Crap. Technology had changed so rapidly in this era no one seemed really to know what anyone else had, but from the expression on Fellini's face this level of miniaturization was far outside the expected range.

"Not as impressive as it sounds," Jenkins interjected quickly, carefully placing the comm in a pouch. "Typical crappy Russian design – most of them fry the film if you handle them wrong."

Giotto raised an eyebrow at his Second. It was a nice save, but a little over the top. Kirk had had to cover a snicker by giving an indignant huff.

"That's why you were so worried about me examining it," Fellini glared at Kirk. "Still hoping to get away with the data you stole."

Kirk smirked at him. "Keep talking and I ztill may. My comrades know zhat I vas keptured. They vill be coming vor me."

"You can see why we need to move quickly," Giotto cut in before the Captain was tempted to try anymore of that fake Russian accent. "I commend your security for capturing this one Colonel, but to be on the safe side I'm going to ask you to erase all evidence that we were ever here."

"I understand, Agent. You'll have our full co-operation."

.

* * *

"Your gambit appears to have been successful," Spock observed after they materialized aboard the _Enterprise__._ "Mr. Scott and I have completed preparations for the attempt to return to our own time."

"Excellent." The Captain held out his handcuffed wrists. "Can someone get these off now?"

"Of course, sir," Jenkins snapped open the cuffs.

"You both make pretty convincing Cold War spooks," Kirk rubbed his wrists. "But I'm still surprised they let you in so easily."

"It was simple sir." Dan glanced sidelong at Giotto and grinned. "Master Yoda just waved a hand and said 'You will take us to your prisoner now' and the guard brought us right to you."

Giotto shook his head. "Just for that padawan, _you_ get to explain to Chekhov why history is going to record our communicators as a 'typical crappy' Russian invention."

* * *

_AN: Another TOS reboot for_ **Saphura**_ (look for her _The Official List of Unofficial Rules _in my favorites)__. This one is based on_ 'Tomorrow is Yesterday'. _ I always thought if they were worried about discovery letting Spock run around in earth's past - especially in a high security military installation - seemed like an unreasonable risk (don't get me started on the Captain and helmsman being the two sent to break into the facility). I figured Giotto could find a better way to handle things in the alternate timeline._

_The connection between Jedi and redshirts is explained in the appropriately named chapter in _Vol. II

_Please r&r_


	10. To Sir, with Love

**To Sir, With Love**

_Because we all have appointments with our pasts_

_

* * *

_

They materialized in an elegant castle garden, just outside the ornately carved doors to the royal audience chamber. Giotto noted that not much had changed, but then this part of the society on Armyllia had been carefully preserved despite steady technological advancement.

"Chief, I understand you were here for first contact," Kirk said with a broad smile. "It must be pretty cool to be here for these negotiations."

"It should be interesting," Giotto replied neutrally.

Hopefully, it would be less interesting than first contact. Then Giotto had been a 25-year-old lieutenant who had unexpectedly found himself in charge of a stranded away team after the two senior officers had been eaten by an actual dragon. It was not the sort of experience to which an adjective like 'cool' applied (although Sam imagined the Captain might use it on first sight of a real dragon - but certainly not much after). Cool also would not have described his own response. He had managed to get the rest of his team out alive and find the child Duchess, who as it turned out had definitely not been carried off by the dragon. However, when they'd returned and the conniving baron who'd sent them on the adventure tried to take credit for everything, Sam had lost his temper and decked the man. The Armyllian royal court had been wildly approving; his CO ...not so much. It was definitely not the sort of incident Giotto thought of as a high point in his career.

At least after over a quarter of a century there weren't likely to be that many people left in the court who remembered the incident and those who did were unlikely to associate a quiet, graying commander in dress reds with the tattered and scorched young lieutenant who had laid out the king's second cousin. Or at least Sam hoped so. The incident had been a bit dramatic, but short and the next away team had done the real first contact work of spending time learning the workings of Armyllian culture and society. Anyone who had asked had been told that Giotto had been more severely injured by the dragon than had been apparent and treatment required that he remain on the ship. Not entirely untrue – his CO had certainly put him through very particular 'therapy' to ensure that he would never pull anything like that again.

As they entered the chamber, flourishes appropriate to foreign dignitaries were played and Kirk walked at the head of his officers, looking very much at home in the midst of the pageantry. When they reached the throne, the Chamberlain tapped his ceremonial staff on the flagstones before announcing them. "Presenting the honorable Captain James Tiberius Kirk, representative of the United Federation of Planets!"

The current regent, who had barely been out of diapers when Giotto had last seen him, raised his hands in welcome. "We are most honored to receive you, James Tiberius. Pray introduce us to your noble party."

The Captain answered with a courtly bow. "May I present my first officer, Cmdr. Spock, my chief medical officer, Dr. Leonard McCoy, my communications officer, Lt. Nyota Uhura and my chief of security, Cmdr. Samuel Giotto, who -"

He was interrupted by a little girl on the royal dias bouncing to her feet and clapping her hands. "Mummy, is that Sir Samuel?"

Giotto repressed a sigh. On the other hand, a young hot-head bursting in and throwing a broken dragon's claw at king's feet probably wasn't the sort of thing people just forgot. In fact, unless he was very lucky, there was probably a largely fictionalized ballad about it and someone would insist on playing it before he could escape.

A noblewoman to the regent's left regarded him thoughtfully. Giotto could just see in her the outlines of a different little girl. He could also see that Spock's eyebrow had disappeared into his hairline and that the Captain was grinning with interest.

"Is it you Sir Samuel?"

There was no avoiding it now. Giotto bowed formally. "At your service, your Highness."

The woman held out her hand with a warm smile. "You may approach us, Sir Samuel."

He ascended the dias with as much dignity as he could muster and bowed over the lady's hand. "It is a pleasure to see you again, Lady Ama Rael."

"And you, Sir Samuel." The Lady inclined her head regally. "May I present my daughter, the Princess Evana Li."

"I am honored to meet you, your Highness." Sam bowed formally to the little girl nearly quivering with an effort to maintain proper court behavior.

Evana Li giggled, but recovered her manners after a look from her mother and dropped a small courtesy. "It is I who am honored to meet my mother's champion, Sir Samuel."

"We had been told one of the crew from our first contact would be present, but not that it would be you," the Regent exclaimed. "Had we known, I would have made the appropriate arrangements to recount your noble deeds."

"I assure you, no such honor is necessary Highness." Or even remotely desired. This was why he had asked Denise not to explicitly name him in connection with the First Contact mission.

"Noble deeds?" Kirk's grin was just barely within diplomatic bounds.

The Regent looked puzzled. "Surely you have already heard them recounted, Captain? The story must be one told at every feast."

"Our 'Sir Samuel' is rather modest Highness. The official report notes only an unfortunate confrontation with a local predator and a misunderstanding with one of the nobles." The Captain raised his eyebrows slightly, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "But Starfleet reports tend to be a bit dry. We'd love to hear the real story from an Armyllian bard."

"Of course, bards are already present to record this historic meeting. I am sure each will vie to give the grandest rendition of the tale while we dine." The Regent clapped his hands. "Let us go directly to the feast."

As the Regent and court processed to the feast hall, Sam could feel his appetite disappearing. Armyllian bards were famous for trying to out-do each other in embroidering tales. After all this time Giotto would probably be lucky if he wasn't depicted with a spear and magic helmet.

Spock and McCoy flanked him as they followed the court into the feast hall. "Sir Samuel?" Spock inquired quietly.

"The honorific has a somewhat different meaning here than in Starfleet, so there was some initial confusion," Sam explained. "I had thought that had been cleared up by now, but Sam Kelso led the follow-on team. Since the Armyllians don't really use last names, I assume they left the 'sir' attached to me to tell us apart."

"Either that or you've been knighted in absentia," McCoy chuckled. "For noble deeds and whatnot. You realize Jim's going to ask for a copy of those ballads?"

"Fortunately, bards only perform live. Recordings are considered to be in bad taste." However, that wouldn't stop the Captain from remembering most of it word-for-word. Giotto was beginning to think he'd rather face another dragon.

.

* * *

Giotto attempted to veer away from the small knot of ladies-in-waiting as he left the dance floor, but they seemed to flow deftly around the edges of the hall to take up position at his destination.

"Go find other partners," his diminutive self-appointed spokeswoman ordered imperiously. "Sir Samuel wishes to rest and shall not be importuned so that you may claim status in your private competitions."

Never mind that Lady Evana Li herself had not only claimed the last two dances but had turned Sam into a make shift throne during dinner. Almost as soon as they had been seated, the little princess had, with an air of absolute entitlement, commandeered his lap. The Chamberlain had attempted to induce her to leave by pointing out that she was preventing their guest from eating, but that had only led Evana to assume the job of feeding him, much to the thinly veiled amusement of her mother and the not-even-remotely veiled amusement of the Captain.

Since Evana would assume the throne at seventeen, as a Federation representative Giotto was more or less obligated to humor her, but he had to admit that she was providing excellent cover. He had easily avoided requests to comment on the bards' tales or tell his own version because custom would have required him to stand to do so, and now she was getting him out of dancing with every noblewoman in the hall. The only downside was the somewhat wistful looks he'd noted from McCoy.

Giotto knelt down to be on eye-level with Evana. "May I request a boon, your Highness?"

"Of course, Sir Samuel," she responded with a little girl's grave attempt at adult solemnity.

"Do you see my friend over there in the blue uniform?" Sam pointed toward McCoy. "He has a daughter near your age that he is missing very much. I would greatly appreciate it if you would lighten his heart by granting him a dance."

"It will be my honor to fulfill such a gracious request," Evana Li nodded grandly and strode toward McCoy - a 7-year-old setting out on a valiant mission.

"You are as kindhearted as you are brave, dragon-slayer," Kirk flashed a grin while giving an exaggerated courtly bow.

"Ignore him, Chief," Uhura advised. "That was a very nice thing you did there."

Giotto stood and straightened his dress shirt. "You mean avoiding another opportunity to step on the future queen's feet? That's not being nice; that's employing a tactical diversion."

"Good tactic," Kirk scanned the hall. "Now you can lure back those hot ladies-in-waiting - Ow!" He hopped back, glaring at Uhura.

"Oh, sorry Captain," she said with a profoundly insincere smile. "I didn't see your foot there."

Sam coughed to cover a laugh. Someday he'd figure out the borderline sibling relationship between Captain and comm officer, but for the moment he was just grateful Uhura was on his side.

"Perhaps one of my 'hot' ladies-in-waiting could find some ice for your injured foot Captain?" Lady Ama Rael appeared behind them with an amused expression. The little girl who had run away because she wanted to be a knight rather than a lady was still outspoken. As mother to the heir-designate, she also had the rank to get away with it.

A small blush crept across Kirk's face. "Forgive me, your Highness, I didn't mean any disrespect."

"On the contrary," she laughed. "Since every one of them has put a great deal of effort into looking, as you say, 'hot' for this evening, none could be taken. They are only staying back now to give me 'right of way'." She raised her eyebrows slightly, a puckish smile playing about her lips. "However, if there is one in particular you wish to lure, I shall call her over."

"None whose company I could prefer to yours, Lady," the Captain flashed a gallant smile, overflowing with charm. His talents as a diplomat could still use polishing, but when it came to women, Kirk was a natural.

"Your reputation is well-earned, Captain, and I am duly flattered." Ama Rael returned her own charming smile. "But my ladies would never forgive me were I to deprive them of such a dashing Captain's attentions. The only company I have come to claim is that of my former champion."

"Alas, even a Captain cannot hope to compete with a legend!" Kirk gave a mock sigh, accompanied by a small bow. He was, in Giotto's opinion, having far too much fun with this.

"If you will excuse us," Uhura took Kirk's arm, propelling him toward a small group of giggling young women who had begun to cluster around an uncomfortable looking Vulcan. "I think it might be time to provide Spock with a tactical diversion."

When they had departed, Ama Rael looked up at Giotto with a wry smile. "I must apologize for the way my daughter has imposed, Sir Samuel, but all her life she has heard the tale of her mother's rescue by a knight from the stars."

"She has been no imposition, Highness. However, had I known how that tale would grow, I would have returned you to court and claimed that you were the one who had slain the dragon."

"Ah, then you would truly have been my champion!" she laughed and then gazed across the hall to where her daughter was smiling with delight as McCoy whisked her across the floor with an easy grace. "But it was as it had to be. Otherwise I might have refused to become a lady even to wed the prince and would never have had Evana Li."

"I was sorry to hear of your loss, Ama Rael."

She nodded slightly. "He was an indifferent husband, but a devoted father. It has been hard for Evana. Her father was her hero. I suppose that's why she has tried to claim a different hero as a substitute this evening."

"Making me out to be a hero took considerable poetic license, Highness." Sam glanced downward. The bards' tales had stopped just shy of the magic helmet. "I hope that you'll tell Evana Li the real story someday. Otherwise, if she's anything like her mother, she may run off and try to re-enact some of those ridiculous accounts."

"I have told her the real story many times," Ama Rael affirmed with a fond smile. "You were a hero, Samuel. You impressed upon a young girl whose head was filled with those ridiculous accounts that a real knight did not rush into a dragon's den unless he, or _she_, wanted to die in a literal blaze of glory. And you did it despite the fact that she kept calling you a coward and trying to drive you off with her little sword."

Giotto compressed his lips, suppressing a chuckled at the memory, "I may have had more holes in my uniform from you than from the dragon. You were pretty good with that little sword, Highness."

"You were the first man I ever met who did not act as though there was something strange in a girl learning to use one. Despite what the bards say, it was for treating me like a person instead of the 'eccentric little duchess' that I named you my champion." She raised an eyebrow. "At the time, I was quite upset when that wasn't enough to force your ship to stay and leave you with us after you had recovered."

That would certainly have made for an interesting turn in his career. "If my behavior at court had not barred me from returning, you might have succeeded Highness. As I recall, you were a very determined child."

"I am still very determined. Determined that my daughter will grow to be a worthy Queen and that our people will join your Federation." She lifted her chin proudly. "Though the politics of this Regency leave me with little formal power, I _will_ see my world changed for the better. I have learned that there are many ways to slay dragons."

Giotto inclined his head to her. "Then you have no need of a champion Lady Ama Rael. You have become one in your own right."

* * *

_AN: __The title is from the movie of the same name._

_This story started with an idea about how 'sir' might be misinterpreted if the crew landed in a different time and place, but took several turns on the road to completion, including a recent trip to Disney where the new crop of princesses actually have some backbone - yeah! My 9-yr-old dd (who got a picture with Mulan) is in fencing and it makes me happy to see that there are so many girls in her classes – a stark contrast to when I began fencing at 19 (I won't say how long ago). _

_Please r&r_


	11. The Trouble with Tribbles

**The Trouble with Tribbles**

_Just because something's cute and friendly, doesn't mean it's not trouble_

_

* * *

_

Giotto helped to hand off another armful of tribbles and then retrieved his padd and headed back to his office. The Captain had ordered maintenance to clean up the ship, but that fell under engineering and Scotty already had his hands full repairing compromised systems. Since removing dangerous life forms was technically Security's job (even though the life forms in question were cute, fuzzy and dangerous only in being voracious and astoundingly prolific), overseeing the task had fallen to Giotto. Checking reports from the various teams as he walked, he organized the data and marked off sectors cleared, contained, in progress, or yet to be searched.

Once inside his (blessedly tribble-free) office, Sam sent the updated list and then leaned over his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose. The last three days had been one emergency after another and for the last 18 hours he had been going non-stop. He wasn't even sure if the current headache was from dealing with bureaucrats, Klingons, the present interminable task, or the fact that the replicators had stopped working properly 10 hours ago so it had been at least that long since he'd had an actual meal or (far more importantly) _coffee_. Giotto wiped a hand over his face. If he was going to skip sleep to get maintenance's job done for them, the least they could do was give priority to getting some caffeine flowing.

A sudden sneeze caught him and Sam noted the fur covering his sleeves as he reached for a tissue. He sincerely hoped he wasn't developing an allergy to tribbles. Even after they got all the little furballs off the ship it would probably be weeks before they managed to clean up the mass of hair that had been shed quite literally everywhere.

Giotto blew his nose and caught a faint sound as he finished. A little trilling squeak. Apparently his office wasn't _entirely_ tribble-free.

He scanned all the visible surfaces, but since he kept things fairly uncluttered there weren't many places for it to hide in plain sight. His shelves were unoccupied and the ventilation system was the first thing they'd cleared (by painstakingly sectioning it off one piece at a time with the hull breach seals). That left the floor. He got down on his hands and knees to peer into the spaces under his desk. There, in the far corner, wedged into a tiny gap near the safe, was a black tribble with gray-tipped fur - near perfect camouflage for that hiding place.

Giotto pulled it out and put the sneaky little hairball on his desk. "Nice try, buddy, but you've got to go too."

The tribble made a distinctly disgruntled warbling noise.

Against his better judgment, Sam picked it up. Tribbles had a tranquilizing effect on humans (and Vulcans too, even if Spock refused to admit it) and Giotto was already far too tempted to close his eyes and doze off. However there was just a chance that that soothing effect might alleviate the pounding headache that the available drugs were not helping. After eating almost their entire supply of non-opiate painkillers, not to mention all the other trouble they'd caused, at least one tribble owed him some relief.

He stroked it with two fingers, murmuring "_yIHHom __lo'laHbe'_" when it started its ingratiating cooing routine.

_Useless little tribble_. After today, Sam had a new appreciation of why '_yIH_' featured in so many Klingon insults...

During the Border Wars, his unit had played a deadly game of cat and mouse with a detachment of Klingons in the tunnels of Matarus – until surface bombardment had caused the passages to suddenly collapse, leaving the surviving foes trapped in adjacent chambers. Once they'd seen to their wounded and worked out that they couldn't escape (or get at one another), they'd begun trading threats and then insults. As the hours passed, it had turned into a competition and finally into a strange sort of camaraderie with each side teaching the other the kind of expressions that were never covered in basic language classes.

Starfleet forces had arrived first to dig them out and the Cmdr. Jorle had been amazed (and a little appalled) to find his missing troops laughing while trading profane jibes (and occasional plaudits for particularly good ones) with the enemy.

Sam had never had a talent for languages, but somehow those lessons in how to cuss like a Klingon had stayed with him. Klingonese was rich in expletives and there was a long tradition of resorting to 'curse warfare' when blood could not be shed. In fact, since the current detente had (thankfully) suspended the threat of actual warfare between them, when he'd spoken to the Klingon XO about the altercation in the station bar, the subcommander had called him a 'soft beardless bloodworm'. Giotto had had the pleasure of taking him aback with '_yIH ngaghwI' __QIp__'_. Korax had clearly not expected a human to know that one.

Sam smiled and let the purring tribble rest against his stomach as the throbbing in his temples began to subside. Tribbles were trouble, but not entirely useless - something the crew of the _Gr'oth_ would soon learn…

.

* * *

Giotto drifted awake to the sound of voices.

"…if you ask me we should find a way to keep that one," Jenkins was saying. "Anything that can take the Chief down without a fight is worth hanging on to."

"Shhh," McCoy whispered. "The man's barely slept in two days. If you can get that last one without waking him, it'll save me havin' to order him to go to bed."

"No problem," Dan chuckled. "Considering how long we've been without coffee, it's a miracle he's not in a coma."

_Oh really?_ Sam continued to feign sleep until he sensed Dan reaching for the tribble and then swiftly grabbed a wrist.

There was an annoyed 'dammit Sam!' from McCoy, but a very satisfying 'GAH!' from Dan.

Giotto cracked an eye. "Try pulling the pebble from my hand while I'm actually asleep, Grasshopper, and someone _will_ end up in a coma."

"And that would be better than a _heart attack_?" Jenkins widened his eyes as he snatched his wrist back. "Holy crap!"

'Holy crap' – Sam almost laughed. He'd obviously neglected a vital part of his Second's education. "_yIH mu'qaD qaq law' mu'qaDlI' qaq puS_."

Jenkins' eyebrows rose in baffled query.

Giotto held up the tribble which wriggled and let out a chittering squeak in protest. "A tribble curses better than you do."

McCoy guffawed and Giotto grinned and placed the tribble into Dan's hand. "Don't worry, we'll work on it."

* * *

_AN: _**Saphura**_ also suggested doing Tribbles, but I was holding off thinking I had to reboot _Errand of Mercy_ first. However that episode is so full of stupidity that I didn't know where to start. Therefore, since in the alt timeline both Federation and Klingon fleets were both devastated by Nero, I'm postulating that they've come to some other sort of temporary accord._

_In the original episode, Korax was the Klingon who goaded Scotty into slugging him. According to Worf, beardless was a serious insult among Klingons__. The least vulgar way to translate _yIH ngaghwI' QIp_ would be roughly 'idiot who mates with tribbles'. _

_I originally considered writing the reboot to let Giotto prevent the bar fight by taking Korax up on his attempt to engage in curse warfare, but my Klingon isn't that good (if anyone sees any glaring errors, please let me know)._

yIlaD 'ej yIchov (read and review - Klingons don't say please)


	12. Relief Work

Relief Work

_Because sometimes the rescuers need rescuing_

_

* * *

_

Giotto found Kirk on the edge of camp, sitting on a low bench with his elbows resting on his knees and hands dangling between his legs. The Captain's head was bowed as though he was contemplating some mystery in the swirling dust around his boots. That he would seek solitude was understandable and if not for McCoy's forceful insistence, Sam would have been inclined to leave him alone with his thoughts.

However, there were practical matters that couldn't continue to be ignored. Giotto stopped at a respectful distance and cleared his throat, waiting for the Captain to acknowledge his presence.

"What is it?" Kirk's voice was weary and when he looked up lack of sleep was written in dark circles under his eyes.

"I've brought you some lunch, sir."

"No thanks, Chief." He looked down again waving a hand in vague dismissal. "I'm not really hungry."

Giotto considered the truth of that statement. During the past several days spent aiding the victims of this disaster they had all seen far too vividly what 'really hungry' looked like. Though Sam had witnessed starvation before on other worlds devastated by plague, natural disasters and/or war, it never got easier. For Kirk, who had lived through this sort of tragedy in early adolescence, it had to be excruciating. Yet Giotto doubted that anyone else, except McCoy, knew that he was affected more than the rest (or the rest minus Riley, but Scotty had intervened to keep Kevin busy on the ship). Kirk had buried the record of his experience on Tarsus IV as carefully as he was now hiding his distress from the rest of the crew and Sam respected his right to do so.

However, the Captain had been refusing meals and that couldn't continue. "Most of us feel that way, sir. It's natural, but we still need to eat."

Kirk shook his head. "Later."

"That's what you told the Doctor yesterday _and_ the day before." Giotto sat down, placing the tray between them. He uncovered it and took one of the bowls. "Sometimes it helps to have someone to eat with."

"Sounds like you've done this before." The Captain's mouth twisted sideways.

"Yes," Sam nodded quietly. "A few times now. It's part of the mission: to go where we're needed."

Kirk gave a short, bitter laugh. "Seems like we were needed here months ago."

Here, as on Tarsus IV, food riots had lead to revolution making the crisis caused by disease and crop failure exponentially worse. Anger and a sickening sense of 'too little too late' were affecting them all, but the anguish underlying the Captain's tone was hard to miss.

"We can only respond to need after aid has been requested, sir. Sometimes people don't ask until things have gotten really bad." Giotto stirred his soup, letting the words lay between them. He wouldn't force the issue unless it became necessary, but if the Captain wanted help, the offer was there.

Kirk sighed, looking back at the camp, busy with people receiving and distributing aide. "This could have been even worse."

Giotto had heard the tapes. 'The revolution has been successful...' said in almost the same breath as the execution order condemning the old, the weak, and those who hadn't taken Kodos' side. He had no doubt that those words had been replaying in the head of the young Captain whose foster family had been on the wrong side of Kodos' revolution. For them, Starfleet had arrived too late.

"We have enough supplies to feed everyone." Giotto indicated the other bowl. "Sir, there's no point in not eating yourself."

For this colony, relief had arrived before fear and scarcity had driven people to truly desperate measures - certainly a good thing even if Sam could wish that the closest ship had been one with a different Captain. But it had to come sooner or later. This was their first emergency relief mission, but it was unlikely to be the last.

"Captain –"

"Look, I know Bones sent you out here and I understand why, but I'm _fine_." Kirk looked away angrily and then ran a hand through his hair. "...or as fine as anyone down here."

And that was lie if Sam had ever heard one. Yes, the Tarsus IV survivors had all received counseling and Kirk had the solid psych rating required for command, but Giotto knew all too well that there were limits. Overcoming trauma was not the same as forgetting it and what the heart remembered was never entirely a thing of the past. But that was Dr. Noel's department, and she was at her own limits counseling this world's survivors. The immediate concern was getting the Captain to see to his physical needs.

"You're right, the Doctor did ask me to come out here," Giotto stated patiently. "But if you want me to believe that you're fine, you'll eat that soup."

Kirk rounded on him. "I don't need a father!"

Okay then. Whoever the Captain had just snapped at, Sam was pretty sure it wasn't actually him. A reality check was in order.

"Trust me, _Captain_, I am _not_ volunteering for the job," Giotto allowed just enough edge in his voice to make the point. "But that doesn't mean that I'm going to stand back and let you starve yourself. You _need_ to eat, sir."

"I- " Kirk blinked like a man who had just been slapped and looked away, pulling at the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, Sam. I …I don't know where that came from."

Sam could take a reasonable guess, but it wasn't his place and it wasn't what the Captain needed right now. He put his bowl down and let out a slow breath.

"Captain, this may surprise you but you're not the first person to tell me that today." He paused a beat. "Ensign Biales accused me of sounding like her mother."

The Captain's head came up. If he'd felt shamed by his outburst, the feeling seemed to have been overwhelmed by the sudden need to suppress a snicker.

Better. Giotto gave him a wry smile. "For the record, sir, I make a lousy Jewish mother."

"It, uh," Kirk covered his mouth, coughing slightly, "does seem like a bit of a stretch. How did you end up in that role?"

"For medical relief missions the CMO has extensive authority, including assigning personnel as he sees fit. The Doctor has his hands full caring for survivors, so when it comes to making sure that our people take care of themselves I appear to have been assigned as his designated enforcer."

The Captain made a small sound as if clearing his throat. "So I'm not the only one then?"

"This is hard on everyone, sir. Most have never seen famine before and they don't know how to cope. Of those that have, most are wrestling with the memories. But the people that it's hardest on are the ones we're here to serve and we can't do that if we let ourselves get too overwhelmed or too worn down to function."

"I know. Intellectually, I know that," Kirk sighed. "But I still can't seem to make myself to eat."

Progress. At least he was admitting that there was a problem.

"Most people have just needed to talk it through a bit. There are only a few I've had to actually order to choke something down." Giotto raised an eyebrow. "_So far_ I haven't had to actually force feed anyone."

Kirk shook his head. "I'm sorry Chief. I will eat, just …a little later."

'A little later' being defined, no doubt, as sometime after they'd left the planet. That wasn't going to cut it.

"No, sir, _I'm_ sorry, but the Doctor's orders were very specific." He held up the other bowl. "Either I get you to eat this or I physically haul you to medical and hold you down while McCoy puts a feeding tube down your throat."

"You wouldn't really do that."

Giotto answered with a look that said _Don't bet on it_ and handed him the bowl. "In your current state I doubt you can put up much of a fight, but it's been a long morning and I'd really prefer that you just eat the soup."

Kirk looked at him, at the soup, and then back again before finally closing his hands around the bowl.

Giotto nodded and picked up his own bowl. "If it makes it any easier, the soup is packed with reconstituted protein and nutrients and that's exactly how it tastes."

The Captain lifted his spoon and stared morosely at the contents. "So you're saying I shouldn't feel guilty about eating this because it's lousy?"

Sam swallowed a spoonful. "It's better before it gets cold."

"Right." Kirk took a tentative sip and made a face. "This could actually taste _worse_?"

"Eat, sir."

Kirk reluctantly put the spoon in his mouth and grimaced through a swallow. "Bones is a sadist."

"_Eat_."

The Captain gave him a wry look. "Yes, _Mom_."

* * *

_AN: Dr. Noel is the ship's psychologist (she appears in_ Dagger of the Mind_)_. _This began after I read a history of famine and revolution in Ethiopia (yeah, I know, light reading eh?) and that opening phrase from Kodos 'The revolution has been successful…' somehow jumped into my head. The interplay between famine and revolution is one of those things unlikely to disappear in the 23__rd__ century. I'm told you need a sense humor to survive doing relief work, so with a little help Jim should make it._

_Please r&r_

_PS: I've got a storyline brewing that will lead to Sam and Denise getting married. There's a poll on my profile page as to whether that should be part of this or a separate story  
_


	13. Flu Shot

**Flu Shot**

_Because even Jedi get the flu_

_

* * *

_

Giotto rolled over in bed and groaned. Every joint in his body ached, he was soaked in sweat and his stomach felt like someone had hit him repeatedly in gut. After all his time in Starfleet he really should have either been inoculated or developed survivor's immunity to all the infectious agents that cold hit humans out here, but the universe kept coming up with new ones. And this one was a doozy. He'd been beaten senseless by Klingons and felt better afterward.

In roughly thirty years in Security he'd been shot, stabbed, clubbed, gassed, poisoned and at least twice left for dead. It would be horribly ironic if the thing to finally take him out was a microscopic flu bug.

_Fever talking_. The fact that he was in his quarters instead of sickbay where they were keeping the really serious cases meant he was probably going to live, even if living didn't necessarily feel like the best option right now. Sam cracked an eye and located the hypo that the nurse had left 'just in case' after giving him the latest version of drug supposed to combat the disease. Obviously it wasn't working. He jammed the the hypo against his neck and then burrowed back under the covers.

He'd barely closed his eyes when a red alert klaxon sent him bolting upright far faster than he should have. Sam's vision swam as the computer chimed in with:

"Intruder Alert! Intruder Alert!"

_Frak_. Something had boarded them while half the crew was down with a virus. Even their luck wasn't bad enough for that to be a coincidence.

Giotto comm'ed his Second, but the only sound on the other end was retching. He quickly shut the link before it could get it to him. Jenkins was out. Groesner was one of people in serious condition in sickbay. Last he'd heard, Jessy wasn't in much better shape than he was. The only people he could think of who weren't sick were going to be in over their heads with this. He had to get out there.

Pushing himself out of bed, he stumbled into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. Looking in the mirror was a mistake - he looked like an extra from _Night of the Living Dead_. (Maybe if he shuffled down the hallway chanting 'braaiinnnsss' it would scare the intruders away?) He threw on clothes and grabbed the phaser from his drawer and a knife from the small collection on his wall. He might be a zombie, but he was an _armed_ zombie.

He'd barely gotten halfway down the hall when he spotted Chekhov edging cautiously along the inner wall, phaser in hand and ready to fire. Giotto caught up and leaned back against the wall beside him. "What's happening Mr. Chekhov?"

"Shhh," Chekhov whispered. "Be wery, wery quiet. I am hunting кролик."

"You're hunting what?"

The Russian gave him a sideways grin. "Rabbit, sair."

Uh-huh. "We've been boarded by marauding rabbits?"

"No sair. Just von _b__ee__g_ rabbit vith nasty, sharp, pointy teeth."

Giotto put a hand to Chekhov's forehead. The kid was running a higher fever than he was. Great. He was tracking a bunny-from-hell or whatever it really was with a fever-mad Russian. Life just kept getting better.

"When did you last see it Mr. Chekhov?"

"Shortly after I vas leaving sickbay. It vent up the stairvell." Chekhov peaked around the bend in the corridor. "Zhere!" The teenager sprang, firing wildly.

There was a surprised yell, but it didn't sound like the source or anything else had actually been hit. Giotto pulled the impulsive kid back before anyone could return fire.

"Sam, Pavel," McCoy's voice came from behind.

Giotto could hear something still moving ahead. He pushed Chekhov behind him before the kid could repeat his last stupid maneuver. "Go with the Doctor, Lieutenant. Get reinforcements. I'll hold them here."

"Sam..."

"_Go_ Doctor."

The sounds ahead were getting closer. Giotto watched to make sure Chekhov was going with McCoy before glancing around the bend. What he saw ...wasn't possible. Of course, there were beings that used illusion for defense or as a lure. It might explain why Chekhov had seen a giant rabbit. He waited five slow beats, and then carefully stepped around the corner, phaser leveled.

"Luke," Giotto said suspiciously. "Where's your light saber?"

"Chief, it's okay. I know what you're seeing probably doesn't make a lot of sense, but I'm one of the good guys."

"Yeah," Sam kept the phaser trained on the illusory Jedi. "Maybe long ago in a galaxy far, far away, but _here and now_ you're an intruder on my ship. You're going to have to come up with a _much_ more convincing argument for me not to take you down."

"Look, I'm not a threat." The apparition slowly raised its hands, palms held outward. "I'm not going to fight you, so, um, Rule One, okay?"

Rule One. And how would Luke or any random alien know about that ...unless it was picking its illusions out of his mind? Sam shuddered with more than fever chill. His finger tightened on the trigger. "Get _out of my head _-"

A sudden sharp pressure hit his neck and then everything went black.

* * *

.

"Dammit Jim! What were you _thinking_?" McCoy ranted. "Oh wait, I know, you _weren't_. I swear I can't leave you alone for a a minute."

Jim got under Giotto's other arm to help Spock carry him back to his quarters. He really didn't think a nerve pinch had been necessary, but at least this way Sam would sleep off the rest it. "He wouldn't have shot me, Bones."

"He thought you were some sort of alien taking advantage while we could barely defend ourselves. _Of course_ he would have shot you. _I_ would have shot you. Hell, _Spock_ would have shot you." Bones rolled his eyes. "Idiot."

"Spock wouldn't have shot me."

"If an altered state of perception lead me to believe that you were a hostile entity, there is an 83.479% chance that I would have shot you," Spock corrected. "Fortunately, I was unaffected by the virus and was therefore never subjected to the doctor's noxious potions."

"Noxious potions!" McCoy glared. "Look here you green-blooded hobgoblin, it's not like I had a year to run clinical trials on this."

"Simmer down Bones," Kirk soothed. "It took a little while for the cure to kick in and a few people had some temporary side effects, but - hey! - it worked perfectly on me."

"_Hmmph_. Figures the one time I give something new to _you_ with no adverse affects it would make half my normal patients squirrelly." He shook his head with a sigh. "Must've been some sort of drug interaction with that multi-symptom shot. Next time I guess I should just leave people suffer until the cure takes hold."

Spock pursed his lips. "That would be more consistent with your usual bedside manner Doctor."

"Oh really? You want to see sufferin' you pointy-eared -"

"Whoa Bones, it's okay. Everything worked out. In fact, it was kinda cool." Jim beamed a broad grin. "The Chief thought I was a Jedi."

"No, Jim, he thought you were _Luke_ - a blonde, wet-behind-the-ears farmkid who keeps walking into traps because he hasn't got the natural sense of self-preservation that the good Lord gave to _cheese_. A natural enough mistake if you ask me." Bones cocked an eyebrow. "What I can't figure is why Chekhov thought you were the killer rabbit."

"That's simple Bones: we're both incredibly cute _and _totally badass," Jim smiled smugly. "Plus that bunny was strong with the Force."

* * *

_AN: Jedi references haven't made an appearance in awhile, but _**DarkEidelon**_ wrote an awesome ST/SW fic (look for it in my favorites) and I realized it was over due.  
_

_ I've been slow to write lately because my dd had the flu and then gave it to me__, which lead to the discovery that taking a certain multi-symptom OTC drug with a prescription anti-flu drug does really odd things to my brain (don't worry, it's probably okay for everyone else on the planet - I have a history of weird drug reactions). Anyway, this story is the result. I'm still a little spacey, so this is a bit more cracky than my usual Giotto story, but I hope you enjoyed the madness._

_Please r&r_


	14. Meeting Parents

**Meeting Parents**

_Because no matter how old you are, some things are still a little awkward_

_

* * *

_

Denise Marshall waited in the shuttle terminal, glaring slightly at the message reading 'Delayed' next to her parents' flight. The _Enterprise_ would only be here for a day to resupply, but her parents had business interests on this planet so for once it had looked like things would work out for them to spend some time together in person.

She had chosen Starfleet, but only seeing her family over subspace comm was difficult sometimes. Maybe not as difficult as actually having them around all the time, but she did still miss them. Now the shuttle delay was eating into the time she'd carved out to spend with them. Well, the Captain wasn't likely to object if she spent the first hour of her next duty shift finishing a tour for her folks. He knew that she was always on call anyway and, despite the fact that Kirk went through women the way some people went through potato chips, he was surprisingly sentimental when it came to the idea of family.

It might actually work out. By the time they arrived Sam might be finished with all the excuses he had to be busy. For a person who wouldn't so much as blink if someone stuck a phaser in his face, he was (in her opinion) being unusually skittish about something that wasn't even a 'meet the parents' scenario. They'd met before after all. In fact, she and her parents had met his parents, brother, grandmother and small army of extended family at the _Enterprise'_s (re)launch party. Granted it had all been in a quick 'This is Mr. Giotto who was also on my last ship' sort of way, but her father had liked him - or at least been relieved to see one senior officer that didn't 'look like a teenager'. Of course, at the time they just been friends but it wasn't like she was planning on introducing him as her lover. ("Mom, Dad, you remember Mr. Giotto, I'm sleeping with him now." _Not_ a statement she would ever come close to uttering even if you combined spores _and_ polywater infection).

Of course there was a chance her mother might realize anyway. Her mother could read her like a book, but Mom was the soul of discretion and wouldn't say anything if Denise didn't. However, if she did notice, Sam would notice that she'd noticed, which would make for an interesting visit since her father could be counted upon to remain completely oblivious. ...On the other hand, Sam might be right about expecting this to be a little awkward.

"Denise! I didn't expect to see you here!"

_Speaking of awkward_. She turned and smiled a perfectly fake smile at the man she had been seeing before she'd shipped out on the _Enterprise_. "I didn't expect to see you here either Julien."

"Just passing through, but my connecting flight doesn't leave until tomorrow." He gave her a hopeful grin. "Hey, if you're free this evening, I'm staying in room -"

"I'm waiting for my parents' shuttle."

"I'll take that as a 'no'," Julien chuckled. It hadn't been a terribly serious relationship but they'd parted on good terms, so he'd figured it was worth a shot. He feigned a dramatic sigh. "I guess I'm on my own - unless you've got a friend you'd be willing to fix me up with."

Denise shook her head. Julien was young, witty and brilliant enough to have landed a plum position at Memory Alpha, but she had definitely traded up.

He pouted a little. "Not even an acquaintance?"

Make that, traded _way_ up. Hmm. Come to think of it, maybe she did have a suggestion for him. "I don't have time to make introductions, but our ship's new historian is a redhead, about my height. You'd probably like her. Marla McGivers - she said something about visiting the Central Museum today."

Specifically, she'd asked Sam if he wanted to go see it with her. Denise was not usually territorial when it came to men, but even if Sam was not at all interested in someone who was a little _too_ fascinated by tough guy warrior-types, McGivers was beginning to get on her nerves. (If the woman ever asked Sam to sit for a portrait, whether he refused or not there was going to be trouble). Julien was a far cry from barbarian hero, but he was a pretty good actor and willing to go along with just about anything if he was interested in a woman.

"Rehead in a museum, you know me too well." Julien winked and gave her arm an affectionate squeeze. "It is good to see you again. Drop me a comm sometime, okay?"

"Sure. Now go," she made a little shooing motion. "My parents will be arriving soon and I don't intend to spend the next few hours answering questions about anything other than my career."

* * *

.

"And this is our First Officer, Mr. Spock."

The Vulcan inclined his head slightly. "It is gratifying to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Marshall."

"_Sochya eh dif, Spokh_." Her mother raised her hand in formal greeting.

One slanted eyebrow moved upward. "You speak _Vulcanir_?"

"Only enough for pleasantries," Mom demurred.

"We entertain a variety of business associates," Dad explained. "And my wife has always considered it rude not to be able to at least greet a guest in their own language."

"It is an admirable sentiment. I see from whence your daughter developed her sense of diplomatic nuance."

"Thank you, Mr. Spock." Mom, who was very good at nuance, was trying not to smile too much in front of a Vulcan. "It is an honor to meet you, but we don't wish to detain you from your duties."

"It is no imposition. I was en route to the shuttle bay as I have requisitions that the Captain is required to sign. It was my intention to relieve Mr. Giotto of assisting him so that he would be free to meet with you."

Mr. Spock was not always quite as good at nuance. Denise would bet anything that whatever Sam had said to him about being tied up with the Captain while her parents were aboard had been meant to be interpreted in an entirely different way. She suppressed a grin. "Then we'll come with you Mr. Spock. I'm sure my parents would like to see the Captain as well."

* * *

.

"Oh come on Chief," Kirk was saying as they arrived. "Just a _little_ Jedi Force-magic would save everyone a lot of trouble with unloading these crates."

Giotto tilted an eyebrow. "Sir..."

But the Captain's eyes had darted to the new arrivals and he was already heading over to greet them with a welcoming smile. "Lt. Marshall, these are your parents? Welcome aboard."

"Thank you, sir," her father answered. "We're pleased to see you again."

"Please, call me Jim." Kirk glanced at Sam with a slightly pained look. "I already get way too many 'sirs' around here."

"Mom, Dad, you remember Mr. Giotto."

"Yes, of course. We're happy to see you again too." Dad was. He still wasn't quite comfortable with a boyish Captain being in charge his daughter's ship.

Sam shook the proffered hand. "And you sir." He nodded to her mother. "Ma'am."

"See?" Kirk rolled his eyes a little.

"Ma'am _is_ a little formal Commander," Mom was looking amused. Possibly too amused. "Please, call me Helen."

"Walter," her father added.

"Well then, Walter and Helen," Kirk interjected. "I hope you're enjoying the tour. Have you seen the Bridge yet?"

Spock cleared his throat very slightly. Civilians weren't generally allowed on the Bridge.

The Captain took the padd from him, quickly signed, and then waved the stylus dismissively. "I know regulations but I think we can make an exception. I'm pretty sure half the medical equipment on this ship came from their company. _I'm_ probably more of a security risk than they are." Kirk flashed grin. "Right, Chief?"

Sam's lips pressed together momentarily. The answer was yes, but he wasn't going to say it. "I don't see an issue with allowing the Marshalls on the Bridge."

"Excellent," Kirk beamed. He loved an excuse to show off his favorite Lady. "Spock if you can take over here, I'll bring them up so no one else can object."

Spock's head tilted. "It was my intention to relieve Mr. Giotto so that he would have an opportunity to visit with Lt. Marshall's family."

Denise bit her cheeks to keep a straight face. Sam was very good at not showing a reaction, but he hadn't been prepared for that. "Thank you, Mr. Spock, but that's ...not necessary. And I'm not a Bridge officer. The Captain would be a better guide."

"I don't want to cut into time for friends of the family," Kirk said. "We're almost done here though. I'm sure Mr. Spock can handle wrapping this up?"

"It should not prove difficult," the edge of Spock's mouth twitched very slightly as he added, "sir."

* * *

.

"I never knew it could do that," McCoy drawled lying on a biobed with a growing grin.

"There are features Starfleet didn't want," Dad was explaining. "but it was easier to just disable the display options than to actually remove them."

"Yeah, I can see why," Kirk quipped. "If I'd known those beds had a massage function, I'd have been in here more often."

"You're in here _too _often," Bones shot back. Then he lapsed into a lazy smile. "_This_ function's going to be reserved for exhausted medical personnel after they've had to patch you back up." He glanced up at Sam. "I might make an exception for people in security that have to put up with his shenanigans," and looked over at Denise, "and diplomatic officers that have to straighten them out, of course."

Sam's eyes moved to look at something on the instrument table and it almost made Denise blush. It had taken her a little while, but she recognized now when he was studiously focusing on some random piece of equipment to redirect himself from something he shouldn't be thinking about.

"Hey, if it makes you less grumpy, I'm all for it," Kirk replied. He grinned at Dad. "So what else can these babies do?"

Denise suppressed a sigh. She'd saved sickbay for last because she'd known how hard it would be to drag Dad out, but with the Captain encouraging him it was going to be impossible.

Mom stepped in. "You can go ahead and show them, Walter, but I think I'd like to sit down for awhile."

"Are you feeling alright?" McCoy was up instantly.

"I'm fine Doctor. I'd just like to have a chat with my daughter that doesn't focus on business."

"Sorry, I guess the tour went a little over," Kirk grinned sheepishly. "She's just _such_ a great ship. Chief, why don't you go with them over to 10 Forward so you'll have some time to visit."

"Unfortunately I'm scheduled to run advanced hand-to-hand in forty minutes and still need to check my messages," Sam nodded politely to her parents before leaving. "It was a pleasure to see you again. You're daughter's a fine officer and it's a privilege to serve with her."

_Tactical retreat_. Denise briefly calculated plans for assaulting his fall back position, but her mother was already making farewells and signaling for her to join her as she left.

A few steps into the corridor and Mom grinned at her. "I don't think I've ever seen a man so in love."

Denise's eyebrows rose.

"Your Captain would marry this ship if he could," Mom continued. "He's as bad as your father and that restored racing yacht."

_Whew_. "It's hard not to appreciate a beautiful ship." Mom joked about the boat being 'the other woman' but she loved sailing too. She was the one who had taught Denise how tie knots and handle sail.

"Your Mr. Giotto doesn't seem like the type to have an affair with a ship." Her mother gave her a far-too-knowing smile.

Drat. Game over. No wonder Sam had disappeared. "History books," Denise conceded. "He gets completely absorbed, especially if there's a lot of detail."

"He's a little older than your last historian," her mother chuckled.

"Mom..."

"You know I'm the last person to object to that." Dad was almost 15 years older. Mom insisted that of the two of them, she was more mature. "But he's obviously a career officer. It can be difficult to persuade older men to change direction if you decide you want pursue a different career path."

Mom still hadn't given up on her only child taking over the company someday. Denise arched an eyebrow. "I've never noticed you having trouble with that."

"Your father is smart enough to realize that I have better business sense."

"It's not like I'm settling down with him." ...although Sam had obviously been devoted to his late wife and he probably would make a good father...  
...dear God, where had _that_ come from? Mom was getting to her. "Hardly anyone even knows we're together."

"He does seem a little different than your usual type," Mom tilted an eyebrow back at her. "You'll notice that I _don't_ say that's a bad thing. It's about time you found someone you could actually depend on."

Denise frowned. "I can depend on myself."

"And so can everyone else, but it's much better when that quality is reciprocated." Mom put a hand on her arm. "Dear, I'm trying to say that I like him. And as amusing as it is to have a 'fleet Security Chief a little scared of me, you might want to tell him that before the next time we visit."

"Mom, I -"

"_You_ are in love with him," Mom smiled smugly. "I don't know how everyone else doesn't know. Honestly, the way you look at him, you might as well have said 'You remember Mr. Giotto? I'm planning to marry him'."

Denise sighed. There were times when she wished Sam really knew Jedi mind tricks - and could teach them to her.

* * *

_AN: The poll says that Sam and Denise getting married should be a separate story, but since that that means there will be a break in this one after which they'll be moving into married quarters, I wrote this as a lead-in/bridge. _

_We will now take a short commercial break while Sam and Denise get married. The first chapter should be up on Wednesday. Story title: _Rule 3b_._

_Please r&r._


	15. Second Marriage

_Warning: This piece contains a couple spoilers for the full story of Sam and Denise getting married, which is told in_ Rule3b.

* * *

**Second Marriage**

_Because if the service __had wanted you to have a spouse they'd have issued you one_

* * *

Giotto looked up from his screen when the door chimed. "Come."

He allowed just enough irritation in his voice to clue whoever was on the opposite side to make this quick. He had been _so close_ to finishing this last report so he could leave.

"Hey Chief," Kirk fairly bounced into the office. "Got a minute?"

Giotto bit back the 'no' that anyone else would have gotten and firmly reminded himself that this was his superior officer and therefore the correct answer was 'yes'. "Of course sir, what can I do for you?"

The Captain dropped into a seat and flashed the sort of grin that always made Giotto want to grab something and brace for impact.

"The question, Chief, is what can _I_ do for _you_?"

_Get out of my office so I can finish up and actually have dinner with __my wife for a change?_ He didn't say it. His recent workload really wasn't the Captain's fault.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Can you finish this report for me?"

Kirk chuckled. "I know you've been pretty busy, but that's all going to change."

Well, maybe that grin wasn't such a bad thing after all. Sam lifted his eyebrows a little higher.

"Both Adm. Archer _and_ the PR office ordered Komack to back off," Kirk beamed smugly. "I mean we can't have a bunch of busy work getting in the way of preparing for your big wedding."

"Big wedding?" Giotto asked carefully. "Captain, I'm _already_ married."

That was ironically the reason for all of the 'busy work'. When Adm. Komack had been informed that the diplomatic officer he'd ranted at over Kirk's refusal to leave Giotto MIA had soon thereafter become Mrs. Giotto, the admiral had turned a truly amazing shade of red (Pike had sent pictures). Unfortunately, Komack was not known for dealing with embarrassment well which was why one of those pictures was currently adorning Denise's dart board.

"Well, you had a private ceremony on that cruise ship, but it seems there's been a little mix up with recording the license," Kirk looked upward, pursing his lips and trying not to look like someone holding a royal flush. "They've been _trying_ to find the captain and get it all straightened out, but it seems like the guy got a sudden offer to join an expedition on Argo and no one can reach him."

Uh-huh. And if that was a coincidence, Sam was a tribble's uncle. "I don't really have a problem with waiting for him to turn up again."

"For shame Chief! How would that look?" The Captain put a hand to his chest and made a not-very-successful attempt at a shocked expression. "My Chief of Security living in sin!"

Giotto raised an eyebrow and tried not to laugh. The idea of Jim Kirk shocked by unwed cohabitation was right up there with a Klingon complaining about unnecessary roughness. However they had surprised, and possibly disappointed, a lot of people by eloping during leave. "Fine, so give us a regulation Starfleet ceremony and then everything will be official."

Blue eyes snapped to his. "So, you'd want me to officiate?"

"Yes Captain," Sam chuckled. It was the easiest option and Denise would forgive him.

"Excellent," the grin snapped back into place, "Can I tell Pike he's relegated to best man?"

Of course Chris had been in on this. A spot on an Argo expedition was more than even the flagship Captain could swing on his own. But if it got Komack off their backs, Sam was willing to be forgiving. "That's okay sir, I'll tell him myself. I assume he'll be dropping by for a 'surprise inspection'?"

"Something like that," Kirk fairly radiated smug. "He'll be the admiralty representative with the press corp."

Press corp? Sam felt his stomach drop. He should have known when he'd heard 'PR office'. He took a deep breath and reminded himself firmly that he was the Security Chief. It would be _wrong_ to steal a shuttle and re-elope before the media arrived.

"Don't look like that Chief," the Captain chided. "It'll be great for recruiting. I mean two officers who survived the Battle of Vulcan fall in love on the ship that saved Earth and get married by the heroic Captain with the equally heroic Admiral standing by as best man. Ratings will be through the roof." He beamed, holding his hands up to the side to form a pretend screen as though pitching a holovid concept. "He's a decorated veteran and the grandson of a MACO from the first generation starships. Her parents' company made the medical equipment that saved his life in sickbay."

Gah. The only thing Sam needed from sickbay right now was something for nausea. "Captain…"

Kirk grinned at him. "It's just a good thing you two actually want to be married because if someone in PR had thought of this first, you might have been ordered to do it."

That would have been a decidedly new twist on the old joke that if the service had wanted you to have a spouse they'd have issued you one. Unfortunately it wasn't that far from the truth. Starfleet had the right to use any and all public images and/or news items relating to its officers for publicity purposes and getting married _was_ a news item.

"Okay," Giotto pinched the bridge of his nose. "When's this circus coming to town?"

"Two days and the wedding's in three," Kirk downgraded the grin to a sympathetic smile. "Look, you know I love an audience, so I'll do my best to keep the cameras on me. All you have to do is give a couple interviews and then show up and say 'I do'. Besides, the press always focuses on the bride."

Oh God. "Has anyone told Denise yet?"

The Captain shrugged. "I figured I'd talk to you first. One of her contacts in PR is bound to leak the news soon."

Which meant that there was probably going to be a new picture on her dartboard by the time he got back to their quarters. Denise had to deal with the PR office all the time and she hated them. Of course she'd understand their reasons and smile and put on a perfect act for the show, but afterward the real news item might well be the groom having to stop the bride from killing someone. Stealing a shuttle was starting to look a lot less wrong…

"Cheer up Chief," Kirk said as he got up to leave. "I always thought it was unfair how the press overlooked you after the _Narada_ incident. Now you get to be famous like the rest of us."

"Yes sir." Giotto resisted planting his head on the desk until after the door had closed.

Frak. The press had loved the 'cadet heroes' angle and Sam had loved it too. It had gotten him out of PR duty and he _liked_ being anonymous.

* * *

.

Sam knew as soon as he came through the door that Denise had already been told. There was indeed an new picture on the dartboard and instead of a kiss and a joke about dinner was getting cold, she just wrapped her arms around him. Giotto couldn't help thinking that his reputation would seriously suffer if anyone knew how much he appreciated that hug.

"Sam-"

"I know. The Captain just told me."

She nodded, relieved to not have to break the news. "Your grandmother comm'ed a little awhile ago. Some reporters asked for an interview to get background and reactions." Denise gave him a slightly amused smile. "She's going to make them record it in the restaurant to get free advertising."

Of course she was. The press had learned not to bother his parents, but Grandma believed that everyone could be useful (whether they wanted to be or not). The cagey old lady would have them eating out of her hand - and in more ways than one. Sam loved his grandmother but the idea of Grandma with a press audience going on about how she was looking forward to finally getting great-children from Grandpa's namesake? Argh.

He gave Denise a weak smile. "I'll try to run as much interference as I can."

"It'll be okay," Denise laid a hand on his cheek. "I think I see where you get that devious streak. Your grandmother seems to have a pretty good grasp of how to manipulate the PR office."

Yeah. That was exactly what he was afraid of.

"Don't worry," Denise chuckled. "She's completely on our side, especially since I told her our schedule for having children."

Sam felt his eyebrows climb. "We have a schedule?"

"Yes," she winked. "When we talk to Grandma, we do."

And she thought he was devious. Sam smiled at her. "You know, if we have to have a second wedding, we ought to get a second honeymoon."

* * *

_AN: Grandma Giotto appeared in_ 'Surprise Inspection' _in_ ToSC, Vol. II _where she_ _interrogated Sam about prospects for remarrying and providing great-children (a subject Sam describes as 'not so much a topic as a mine field'_).

_I was recently reminded of the old joke in the 'Because…' and it prompted an idea for how to restart this series with Sam and Denise now married. I hope it worked. Let me know.  
_

_Please r&r_


	16. A Family Wedding

**A Family Wedding**

_Because all weddings, except those with shotguns in evidence, are wonderful  
_

* * *

Giotto looked up when the door opened, and sighting a reporter close on Denise's heels began to rise. They had just endured pictures and mingling at the press mixer. A minute or two of privacy before the next round was _not_ too much to ask.

She waved him off. "Ms. Jamison is from _Bridal Weekly _and her advertisers would like to offer me one of their gowns. She's been _quite_ insistent about it so I'm going to show her that I have perfectly good dress already." Denise smiled tightly. "Have a seat Sam. This shouldn't take long."

_Yes dear_. He didn't say it, but he resumed his seat. The standard press corps had been padded with a number of civilian media unaccustomed to Starfleet and, as far he was concerned, one of that number trying to talk Denise into some meringue of a dress was on her own.

Sam put his feet up on the coffee table and resumed his reading while starting a mental countdown. Three, two...

"But that's a uniform!" Jamison exclaimed from the next room.

"A _dress_ uniform," Denise corrected firmly. "Just like Sam will be wearing."

"But you could look like a _princess_..." Jamison abruptly trailed off and Sam smiled to himself. He could just picture the look that had stopped her mid-objection.

"Commander," Jamison said coming back to appeal to him. "Wouldn't you -"

"I proposed to a Starfleet officer," he replied without looking up. "That's how I'd prefer she look at this wedding." It was nice for once to have an answer that would please both Denise and the PR office. Besides, the sarong from when they'd eloped would be far too casual for a 'fleet ceremony.

"While I do appreciate the offer," Denise explained diplomatically, "for a family wedding, the bride usually chooses a dress in keeping with tradition. This ship has become a family and _Starfleet_ is our tradition."

Sam looked up at her fondly. He could certainly do without the media coverage, but he'd gladly marry her all over again.

* * *

.

Kirk smiled to himself at the small cadre of female security officers forming a shield wall against the press so the couple could get a bite to eat at what was theoretically their rehearsal dinner. Jim was actually grateful for the media presence - and not just because he loved attention _and_ looked fabulous in dress gold. No, he was glad they were here because the first time he'd performed a wedding it had been for two of those four women and the other two had drilled him mercilessly to make sure he did it right. If they hadn't been busy running interference with the press, Jim hated to think what 'the coven' might have put him through for _Pop's_ wedding.

"I see the _familia_ is handling matters," Pike remarked with an amused smile.

Whether he liked it or not, Giotto was officially stuck with 'Pop' now. Sam had become a father figure to a lot of security and the female officers in particular seemed determined to close ranks against any perceived invasion of privacy. Journalists aren't stupid and they'd quickly started using 'daughter' as a code warning to each other. Of course, security officers aren't stupid either and had pressed the advantage. When it came to one particularly pushy reporter, Hanlan had backed the man into a corner and pointedly explained that if he ever ambushed the couple for a 'candid shot' again he was going to have to learn how to take notes with a padd stuffed up one end and a stylus down the other. (Jim had nearly burst when Bones had added "And don't expect me to use any painkillers to remove them.")

Better yet, some of the brighter members of the press had started covering the media vs. security angle. Kirk smirked at the admiral. "When it comes to recruiting, I think this may wind up netting a lot more women interested in being kickass than ones looking romance."

Pike rocked against his cane wearing a smug expression. "You know Jim, I was more or less counting on that."

* * *

Despite a few noteworthy infractions (like the idiot who'd gotten stuck in the duct work while trying to eavesdrop) this had not, thus far, gone _quite_ as badly as Giotto had feared. Grandma had apparently done them a service by sharing the story of his father nearly killing a reporter (The man had deserved it. It took a profound lack of survival skill to stalk a homicide detective's wife for a quote). Add to that the fact that the coven were treating positions as bridesmaids like a bodyguard assignment and the press at this 'event' had developed enough interest in self-preservation to take seriously the quartet of dangerous glares that accompanied anyone straying from approved interview times and/or topics.

Sam resolved to buy them each a nice bottle of their favorite liquor when this was over, but right now he intended to burn off a little steam in the gym before facing his own pre-wedding interview. Giotto had endured any number of interrogations in his life, ranging from the brutal Klingon sort to boards of inquiry to prying but well-intentioned family members. He had learned to face them all with equanimity and steady resolve, but it did help matters if he got to beat the stuffing out of a heavy bag first.

"Excuse me, Commander!"

Damn. Stray reporter on his six. Unfortunately his wingman in all this was an admiral who seemed be enjoying the whole situation entirely too much. Giotto continued walking straight to the bag and hit it solidly in hopes that the journalist would take the hint.

The sound of footfalls hurrying to catch up said there'd be no such luck. "Excuse me sir, can I ask you some questions?"

Sam kept his focus on the bag, methodically running through the strike sequences he used to warm up. "The interview's scheduled for 11:00."

"I know, sir, but I -"

"Yai!" Giotto ki-ai'ed on a hard thrust punch.

The reporter froze momentarily, but didn't leave.

Sam was beginning to wonder if there was a special sort of dense that predisposed people to a career in journalism, when the guy came around behind the bag.

"How about if I hold that for you?"

A _really_ special sort of dense. He threw a sidekick that made the bag's tethers strain.

The skinny kid caught the bag on the rebound. "Please?"

* * *

.

Peter Ripley knew this might not be the brightest thing he'd ever done, but sighting Giotto with no other reporters for competition and no one else to interfere had been too good to pass up. So security officers in general were not inclined to be talkative and the _Enterprise_'s CSO seemed to epitomize the breed. So his first attempts had met with a distinct 'Get off my lawn kid' vibe from the graying Commander. A good reporter could always find an angle and on impulse he'd decided to go for the 'just another guy in the gym' approach.

Admittedly he probably weighed less than the heavy bag itself, but he'd caught it anyway and that had to count to for something. Peter smiled tentatively "Please?"

Giotto half-lifted an eyebrow. The expression said _It's your funeral_, but it wasn't a no.

Grinning, Peter got a grip and braced himself. He'd let the guy work out a while and build some goodwill with companionable silence before he started asking questions.

About ten minutes later, Ripley was thinking he could probably skip his own work out today. He was going to be a lot more sore and exhausted from this than his usual bit of weights and jogging. When Giotto stopped, he nearly sagged in relief.

"I'm done warming up," the CSO gave him a short nod. "You should step back now."

Whew. "What's next? Jogging? Weights?"

"Now I put some real force behind the strikes."

Peter puffed a laugh. The man had to be joking.

Giotto's eyes flicked over him. "You should stretch out. You're not used to holding a bag."

Ha, his plan was working. That'd been borderline friendly. "I'll be okay. Hey, I wanted to ask -"

"Stretch," Giotto ordered and turned his attention back to wailing on the bag.

Ripley obediently rotated his arms a bit and then picked up his padd. There was a built in vidcam and he could at least get some footage. No wonder Marshall had given Winton that _look_ when he'd asked if she ever had second thoughts because of the age difference. Giotto was almost twice Winton's age, but Winny was the short of guy who could get winded trying to get out of a chair.

…Hey, was that a little smile starting to work its way onto Giotto's face? Maybe now he could try a question again, something neutral to start. "So how long have you been doing this?"

One corner of the Commander's mouth twitched. "About 20 minutes."

Oh my God - a joke! Ripley did a little victory dance in his head. "I mean martial arts."

"A long time."

Yeah, that was definitely a smile. The guy was totally frelling with him, but not a mean way. "Does your fiancée do this too?"

Giotto paused, threw a series of rapid punches, spun and drove an elbow into the side of the bag. "Starfleet - we all do."

Right. Stupid question. There was a definite hint of 'don't cross me' about Marshall, but she wasn't security so she probably wasn't hardcore. "Then if that wasn't the attraction what was?"

Giotto diverted his attention from the bag just long enough to give Ripley a look that questioned every aspect of his observational skills from eyesight to baseline IQ.

Peter laughed to himself. The CSO wasn't the sort to wear his heart on his sleeve, but the guy _was_ in love. "I'll, uh, just put that down as 'everything' then?"

There was a slight nod just before Giotto slammed a heel into the bag. "Close enough."

He was just weighing his next question when a hand landed on his shoulder. Oh shit. 'Daughter'.

"You seem to have lost your group." The way the hand pulled Ripley back wasn't rough, but conveyed a distinct impression of 'come along quietly - _or else_', "Let me help you find them."

"Mr. Giotto, please -"

"11:00 Mr. Ripley," he replied without taking his eyes from the bag. "And Margolis, make sure he gets there in one piece."

"Aye sir," she sounded slightly disappointed.

"Thank you," Ripley called back as he was steered away. Not bad. He'd only gotten about a dozen actual words out of the taciturn commander, but it was one-on-one and probably better than anyone else was going to score later.

* * *

.

McCoy chuckled as Jim adjusted the hem of his dress tunic almost exactly the way Spock did when he didn't want to admit to being agitated. The kid wasn't as keyed up as for his first wedding, but he certainly looked a lot more nervous than the groom. Bones eyed Giotto and nudged the admiral.

"I know," Pike whispered. "He's disgusting. You know Sam, even if it's just for show, you could look a _little_ nervous."

"I don't see why," Giotto remarked smugly. "I've got nothing to worry about. After all I'm about to be _officially_ married to the perfect partner to help devise payback for this circus."

"Tsk, conspiring against a superior officer," Jim scolded jokingly. "You're going to make me confine you both to quarters."

Sam bit back a laugh. "Follow through on that and I just might forgive you Captain."

Any further discussion was interrupted by a note, indicating that the bridal party had arrived. People quickly took positions as the music began and after a few bars the bridesmaids appeared, immaculately correct in dress reds except for a few blossoms laced through their hair.

Pike watched Sam's face as Denise appeared, a small veil her only concession to bridal fashion. Quite apart from ethical objections, it was no surprise that she'd refused a fancy gown or that she'd declined having anyone walk her down the aisle. A lovely, confident woman, proud to be Starfleet and clearly giving herself to the man she'd chosen - PR could hardly have picked a better bride as a poster girl. (Pike secretly suspected that certain PR people had been just waiting for her to get engaged). He still had no idea when that tide had turned, but if he'd had any idea while he was still their captain that Denise held anything but strictly friendly feelings for Sam, Chris would have twisted his friend's arm (literally if necessary) until he'd admitted that she was exactly his type and agreed to do something about it.

When she reached the front and took Sam's arm, Kirk beamed at them from behind the lectern and then looked up at the assembled crowd. "Since the days of the first wooden vessels, all ship masters have had one happy privilege: that of uniting two people in the bonds of matrimony. And it is now my honor to unite two officers and friends here in the sight of their shipboard family."

"Since we have visitors who may not know this," Kirk glanced over to the press seats, "the groom is known on this ship for two rules. The first is avoid a fight if at all possible." Jim paused, flashing a quick grin. "I'm told that this will probably make him the perfect husband."

Chris suppressed a chuckle at the warning glare McCoy shot behind his back at Jim.

"The second one," Jim continued quickly. "Is that when you have to fight, make it quick and decisive. This certainly isn't a battle, but it didn't surprise me at all to hear that the couple had chosen vows that are not only steeped in tradition, but complete and concise. So if the admiral will hand over the rings, I'll step back so they can exchange them."

Hanlan took Denise's bouquet, while Chris produced the rings and handed them to the couple with a fond smile. They slid them on each others fingers, saying in turn,

"With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, with this pledge my love and life to thee I bind."

There were a couple murmurs and a sniffle from the press seats. Pike glanced over and caught the fractionally tilted eyebrow that was the Vulcan equivalent of an eye roll. He couldn't blame him. How had someone who cried at weddings ever gotten assigned to cover this one?

Kirk raised his hands. "We have heard you promise to share your lives in marriage. We recognize and respect the covenant you have made. Therefore I now pronounce you _officially_ married. You may kiss the bride," he grinned, adding _sotto voce_, "and make it good or PR will make us do this all over again."

A moment later the room broke into applause. Giotto wasn't inclined toward public displays of affection, but he wasn't taking any chances.

* * *

_AN: The first time I have Kirk officiate is in_ Sneakin' Around_. He borrows some standard text from that one here, but then why mess with what works?_ _The vows are the same ones Sam and Denise used when they eloped._

_Sorry this took so long. Plot bunnies for other fics and too many ideas for this one got in the way. In the end it took a lot of trimming to get this to chapter size. I hope no one is too disappointed after the long wait._

_Please r&r_


	17. Assigning Penance

**Assigning Penance**

_Because the difference between a Security Chief and God is that with God there is the hope of forgiveness_

* * *

Cmdr. Giotto scowled, slowly pacing the line of food-spattered crew in front of him. He focused a well-honed glare on each in turn, watching them stiffen and desperately fix eyes on one of the smears adoring the mess hall walls behind him. It was at least gratifying to know that the various strains on his clothing and bits of potatoes still clinging to his hair were no impediment to his ability to strike dread into the hearts of misbehaving junior officers. If anything, the fact that he had become a 'casualty' in their out-of-control food fight seemed to be contributing nicely to the air of impending doom.

He let the moment stretch. Giotto was a firm believer in the old adage that the anticipation of punishment was often worse than the punishment itself. Although, having been slammed in the face by bowl of mashed potatoes just as he'd opened his mouth to call 'Attention', Sam had every intention of making the punishment itself worthy of their anxiety.

"I _want_ an explanation." Giotto paced two more steps, stopped and fixed a menacing gaze squarely on the person he judged most likely to have started the trouble. "And I want it _now_."

The ensign, coated head to toe in an unappetizing array of food stuffs, swallowed nervously. Everything about his manner had practically screamed '_please_ don't ask me' and it was now almost possible to hear him silently wishing for a sudden hull breach to suck him away into the potentially more merciful void of outer space.

The man next to him took unexpected pity and stepped forward. "This wasn't supposed to happen sir."

"_That_, Mr. Riley," Giotto replied without moving his eyes from his original target. "Is an understatement."

"Th-that is, sir, we didn't _mean_ for this to happen," Riley stammered guiltily.

Giotto's attention swung to Riley. On the one hand, the man had stepped forward showing a good deal more courage than anyone else in the room (although Margolis' presence might have something to do with that). On the other hand, if Kevin was responsible for the greasy patch of gravy drying on the back of Sam's pants, no amount of credit for moral courage was going to save him from paying for it.

"How precisely _did_ it happen Lieutenant?"

"We were just having a bit of fun sir. You see, it's Lent and ...uh... " Riley faltered at the look on Giotto's face.

The look said _'This_ had better be good'. There were more varieties of Christianity than anyone could keep track of in this century, but Lent as an excuse for a food fight was definitely a new one (and Giotto happened to know that Riley had been raised in the same very old one that he had). He cocked a skeptical eyebrow, waiting as Kevin dithered anxiously over how to reformulate that answer.

"They were teasing Murray with the food he'd given up," Margolis snapped, shooting a sharp look at Riley and the two men behind him. Then she stepped forward and straightened, belatedly remembering that she was supposed to be addressing her CO. "Sir. I didn't see who threw the first handful, but things got out of hand pretty quickly once it started flying. Sir."

It didn't take much to imagine the sequence and Giotto bit his cheeks trying to maintain a stern expression. It wasn't easy, especially given the righteous indignation blazing under the bonnet of meringue smeared across Margolis' head. Getting this far on Kathy's bad side was probably worse punishment than anything Sam could devise for Kevin, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to try.

"I see," Giotto pursed his lips, returning his attention to Riley and his cohort. "Then in the spirit of the season, it would seem appropriate to assign _penance_."

A muttered 'yes, Father' came from someone just outside his peripheral vision and Giotto shot a dark look at that section of the room. He drew himself up and addressed the entire line of miscreants. "First, you will all clean this room down to the last square _nanometer_. And I mean scrubbed until it _shines_ - the next shift to eat in here had better need _dark glasses_ because of the gleam. Second, you will see that the plates, trays, and silverware are _spotless_ and _not_ by placing them in the washers. In fact, we will be saving wear and tear on those for the next _week_ while you all take shifts cleaning them by hand."

Assigning KP was an old tradition and Sam paused to allow the traditional groan. "_Then_ you will assist the laundry staff in cleaning and pressing every uniform stained by this little escapade. And last, but not least, until _I_ decide that you can be trusted again with food capable of staining, you are all on bread and water."

He doubted it would take more a few days to teach a sufficient lesson, but Giotto watched with satisfaction as it dawned on one person after another that it was entirely possible to program a replicator to make 'bread' that could provide all of their nutritional requirements for a _very_ long time. He paused for a long moment as though considering something more and then barked, "Get to work."

"Riley, Michaels, Sanchez," Giotto pointed to each before they could scramble off with the rest. "I'm not done with you yet."

Riley glanced at the other two, unhappily realizing that he'd become the de facto spokesman. "Sir?"

"I am not a religious man gentlemen, but I will _not_ tolerate anyone disrespecting a crew mate's religious practice. Am I clear?"

"Sir, we never meant -" Michaels began.

Giotto rounded on him. "_Am. I. Clear_?"

All three snapped to. "Sir yes sir!"

"P-please sir, they really didn't mean it that way," Murray interrupted nervously. "We've all been sort of teasing each other about what we gave up. I just ...lost my temper." He winced slightly as he finished, aware that violating Rule One over a favorite treat was probably a one-way ticket to whatever version of hell his Security Chief chose to devise.

"I see." Uncle Frank (a.k.a Father Francis) was either going to be appalled or laugh his ass off whenever Sam got a chance to tell him this one. He took a long moment studying the four of them. Honesty and contrition counted for something, but even if forgiveness was the theme of the season, suffering came before redemption.

"You gentlemen realize that half the point of a Lenten discipline is self-discipline?" Giotto asked. His tone was rhetorical, but the looks of foreboding on their faces were answer enough. "Since you would all appear to need a little more work in that area, I think another 40 days would be in order. However, to avoid any chance of repeating _this_ incident _I_ will assign the discipline."

He paused, allowing them a moment to brace themselves and build a healthy fear of the sentence he might pronounce. "The fast will be leisure time, but there should be little temptation involved since you'll no opportunity for it. I have a new set of Rule One simulations that I haven't hammered into perfect form yet and by virtue of this little lapse in self-restraint, you have all just volunteered as guinea pigs. Between that and serving as personal valets to the Captain to make up for the red sauce on _his _shirt, you should have just enough time left between duty shifts to eat, shower and sleep."

The four were trying not to exchange looks while still peripherally urging one another to come up with some way out of this. Giotto gave them a thin smile. "Should I add more?"

"No sir," they chorused almost in unison. "We'll, uh, get to cleaning then sir?" Riley ventured.

"Yes. Go." He nodded dismissal and watched them scramble to lose themselves among their busy food-spattered crew mates.

Sam hummed _Pange Lingua_ to himself as he headed for a much needed shower. He'd mention the arrangements to Uhura. If she decided to suggest to Riley that butlering would be more pleasant if he sang while he worked, that might just prove penance enough for the Captain, who had restarted the food fight by slinging the spaghetti on his shirt at Mr. Spock.

* * *

_AN: This one has been simmering for awhile (the beginning was written during Lent). _Pange Lingua___ (Sing my Tongue) is an ancient lenten hymn. Yes, Kevin still has a crush on Margolis._

_Although the details of the food fight have been slightly altered to fit this story, it was inspired by reading Ch. 6 of _**Saphura'**s 'The Official Reasons for Unofficial Rules' _(trust me, read them all). __ The 'because...' is based on an old military joke about Sgt. Majors._

_Please r&r_


	18. An Orion's Uncle

**An Orion's Uncle**

_Because it's a small universe, especially in Starfleet _

* * *

Cmdr. Giotto escorted the Captain through the outpost. Of course, Kirk would probably object to the concept of an escort, so technically he was joining him to have a look around a new Federation commercial center on the borders of Orion space. Civil station or not, Starfleet would be responsible for security measures and Giotto had dealt with Orion pirates and the Syndicate more than few times during his years in Starfleet.

So far, the more obvious defenses and security systems appeared to have been well-designed. Later, when he got a chance to come back on his own, Sam would try to contact someone in the SI contingent that was undoubtedly present. The most serious threats here would come from within and if something did go wrong, it would be good for the Security Chief on the ship most likely to be called to have a feel for who would be operating on the inside.

For now, on a station filled with nearly all of the temptations Orion had to offer, it wasn't the worst idea to make sure the Captain was accompanied by someone with a fair amount of experience at resisting them.

Kirk skidded to a stop as they passed a shop window. "Hey, hold up Chief. I want to check this out."

Sam fixed a neutral expression firmly in place before turning to look at the window - and still narrowly avoided a double-take. The Captain would never cease to surprise him. The window was filled with books, and of a distinctly non-erotic variety.

"A whole collection of blueprints from pre-warp FTL drives across five systems! - Scotty would give his _firstborn_ for that." Judging by the light in the Captain's eyes, his inner tech geek was itching to get his hands on it too.

"Tellarite shopkeeper," Giotto observed, looking further through the window. "If I go in with you, he'll think he can ask a lot more for it."

"Then wait here. I _promise_ not to get dragged into a backroom and kidnapped," Kirk gave him a look that was probably supposed to mean 'I can take care of myself', but never failed to remind Giotto just how young his captain really was.

"Yes sir." He stepped back. "And remember: barter firmly, no flirting."

Kirk shook his head, chuckling at the reference. "I'll be right out."

As the Captain entered and picked the book from the display, Giotto moved to a position where it wouldn't be too obviously that he was watching through the window. He tracked a blonde head winding through stacks to the counter. Another book had been added by that point. One hand rose in a gesture of 'just a minute' and a trace of blonde hair disappeared down an aisle, returning after a bit with four more books. Another gesture of 'wait', another side trip, more books...

Sam sighed. He'd spent a lifetime training himself to patience, but at this point in his career he really shouldn't have to deal with anything resembling a stake-out. He was just considering whether it would look too suspicious if he went in and browsed too when a flash of green and red rounded the curve of the hallway and bore down on him.

"Commander!" Gaila halted just in front of him. She was the only person Giotto had ever met capable of bouncing to attention, but somehow she made it work.

"At ease," he smiled. "And congratulations _1st _Lieutenant - the stripe looks good on you."

"The smile looks good on you," she replied with grin.

Their first meeting hadn't gone so well. It hadn't been that long since Maria had died when Sam had been asked to 'babysit' one of Pike's favorite recruits and he hadn't been much inclined to smiling. Since he also hadn't been much inclined to explain that to a freshman cadet, Gaila had taken it personally.

"I've been working on it." He rubbed the edges of his mouth. "The smiling muscles are almost back."

She smiled slyly. "I hear you've had help with that. I'll never understand why you humans think committing to monogamy is a _good_ thing," Gaila rolled her eyes a little, "but, in the spirit of, you know, 'not assuming other species think the way I do' - congratulations."

"Thank you," Sam nodded, chuckling. He'd once gotten roped into running a sensitivity training class at the Academy and he was pretty sure that Chris had forced him into it because Gaila had been smack in the middle of the issues there. "If you're free, maybe we can have dinner. I'm sure Denise would love to meet you."

"That would be great. I'm here to meet Bill, but he'd probably agree to a joint dinner," she grinned mischievously, "if you promise not to smack him in the head."

The last time Giotto had been on Orion, Bill had been a wet-behind-the-ears rookie suffering from the delusion that being in SI meant that he knew something. Hopefully he'd matured a lot since then. "I do need to talk to him. How about if I promise not to smack him too hard?"

"Or I could smack him for you." Gaila looked upward coyly. "He seems to like that sort of thing when I do it."

Oh God. Sam spread a hand over his face. "I could've gone a _very_ long time time without knowing that..."

Gaila laughed. "But it'll be a lot easier to resist hitting him now, won't it?"

"Sneaky," Giotto said approvingly. "Glad you're on our side."

"Me too. And that you're on mine." She raised her eyebrows a little. "Does being married mean that hugging is completely off-limits now?"

For most people it was, no matter what his marital status. But Gaila had probably saved his life once, so he was willing to make a few concessions to Orion custom. "My wife's a diplomat. I think she'll understand."

Orions were strong and the kind of hug Gaila used for friends and family was closer to a tackle than an embrace. Sam had learned to let himself turn a little on impact - which was why he didn't know the Captain had emerged from the store until he heard a gasp and a carton of books hitting the floor.

"Hi Jim!" Gaila called over his shoulder. She didn't seem inclined to let go just yet.

"_Gaila?" _Kirk's voice had risen half an octave.

Once he'd extricated himself from the hug, Giotto turned to find his Captain staring in disbelief. He cocked an eyebrow at Gaila. "I thought you were done with payback for the _Kobayashi Maru_?"

"I am," she folded her arms, "but that doesn't mean I don't just _love_ seeing that look on his face."

"I...," a worried crease formed between Kirk's brows, "You two _know_ each other?"

Gaila smiled smugly. "Samuel's practically my uncle."

"Practically...?" Kirk cast a flummoxed look at Giotto. "Samuel?"

Giotto suppressed a smile. He couldn't deny that he kind of enjoyed that look on Kirk's face too (and he definitely preferred 'practically my uncle' to 'I tried to fix him up with my mother').

"A proper given name _is_ the polite form of address among Orions," Sam replied as he went to help gather the spilled books.

"Yeah," Kirk said. "But _Uncle_ Samuel?"

Giotto lifted the box and let the Captain reorder his books while he explained. "I was asked to escort Gaila back to Orion a few years ago when there was concern about the safety of the travel lanes. Her family was kind enough to allow me to stay with them during the trip."

"It was a little awkward at first, but he convinced my mother that Starfleet wasn't _all _bad." Gaila gave him a warm smile.

Sam shot her a warning look. There were details he'd really prefer not mentioning to the Captain.

"Gaila's mother is an outstanding cook." As well as a kind woman and a good nurse, for which he'd owed her a lot. "So I asked my grandmother to offer some advice on starting a restaurant. As it turned out, Grandma took a liking to Navesh and fronted her the money to open what's now a pretty successful Orion cafe."

"So _your_ grandmother gave a loan to _her_ mother," Kirk repeated incredulously. "And that makes you her uncle?"

"Grandma Giotto only asked for 5% interest. Ama couldn't have gotten a deal like that from _clan_." Gaila nodded firmly. "By Orion standards, that's practically adoption."

"Okay," Kirk conceded and gave her a crooked smile. "I guess I'm lucky you didn't ask him to beat me up for using you to hack the _Kobayashi Maru_."

"I'd never have done that." Gaila smiled sweetly. "Payback is _so_ much better when it's delivered _in person_."

Kirk blushed clear to his hairline. "I really was just trying to leave you 'plausible deniability'," he pleaded, giving her big, puppy-dog eyes.

"Save it. I've forgiven you." Gaila waved a hand. "And if I ever _need_ more payback, I still have the pictures."

Kirk shook his head as he reclaimed the box and gave her a fond look. "Is there enough forgiveness plus blackmail potential to consider transferring to the _Enterprise _now?"

"Maybe someday, but I've just started the _best_ project." She looked at Giotto. "Thanks again. I don't think I'd have gotten it without Granger's recommendation."

He shrugged. "I didn't do much. You already had an admiral on your side and Granger knows your skill set."

"She wanted to court martial me before I'd even been commissioned," Gaila arched an eyebrow. "_Someone_ twisted her arm and I _know_ it wasn't the admiral."

"I just pointed out that recommending the best person for the job, despite any personal issues, would look really good on her record." And that Dahlia had once been 20 herself and not exactly immune to mouthing off or to ignoring orders she didn't like. He looked over at Kirk. "And it's not as if Starfleet has never rewarded people for bucking orders when their initiative saved lives."

Kirk looked from one to the other. "Sounds like a good story. Any chance I could hear it over a couple drinks?"

"Sorry," Gaila shook her head. "Classified."

"I'm a _Captain_. And I'll buy."

"After buying all those rare books?" Giotto raised an eyebrow. "Even Captains have credit limits."

The Captain considered the box. "Dinner in my quarters? There are a lot of people on the ship who'd love to see you, Gaila."

"I know," she grinned. "In fact I'm meeting Nyota and Christine in few minutes," she held up a hand, "Girls only. And I've already got a dinner date."

"You always were popular," Kirk teased.

"Different reasons this time ...well, mostly." She winked and walked around the box to give the Captain a relatively gentle sideways hug. "Now go back to the ship before your arms fall off. I promise I'll drop by to visit before I leave."

"I'll look forward to it."

She looked at Sam. "I know: one hug's your limit. I'll see you later too."

Gaila gave a quick wave and disappeared down the corridor.

* * *

.

Jim stared wistfully after Gaila's retreating form. The last time he'd seen her as a cadet, she'd stormed away angry, leaving him trapped with rose stems stuffed in some very uncomfortable locations. He'd resolved to choose different flowers next time but imagined that once her anger was spent it'd just take a little charm, maybe a little more groveling, and in no time they'd be back to good friends with great benefits.

A lot of things about the _Narada_ incident had changed him, but thinking Gaila was dead had probably changed him most of all. He'd never be straight-laced, but he'd never again use a woman to get what he wanted figuring he could sweet talk an apology later. The weeks he'd spent thinking Gaila was gone had shown him just how easy it was to never have a 'later'.

When he'd heard that she'd been found alive, it had felt like the universe was giving him a real second chance. Gaila had still been in rehab when the _Enterprise_ relaunched, but Jim had left a standing offer. As long as he was Captain, the flagship would have a place for her.

He hadn't realized at the time that she had so many other options.

Jim hefted his books and headed toward the transporter station. "So, is this new job another AI project?"

"Security-related." Something pulled at the corner of Giotto's mouth. "We tend to prefer real intelligence."

The last droids Starfleet had developed to replace security had been complete disasters, but the statement was also as much of a hint as Giotto was likely to give that Gaila would be working with SI. It was progress. Font of information his Security Chief was not, but a year ago Jim would've gotten even that much.

"You know it's kind of weird finding out the two know each other. I mean, you've never mentioned her."

Giotto shrugged. "I know a lot of people. I don't mention most of them."

"But she never mentioned you either."

"I was the one who insisted that the engineers take the full SERE course." Sam gave a him a wry smile. "Most people don't mention their connections to 'Satan Incarnate'."

Jim snorted a laugh. "She still could've told me. All those computer geeks just made me look better."

"Except for Gaila."

"Yeah, okay, but she had natural camoflague. Plus, she's _Satan's niece_," he teased and then flashed a grin. "Hey,_ Satan's Niece _- that'd be really cool on a leather jacket."

"Uhura probably knows her size," Giotto offered casually. "In terms of making amends, nice clothing generally goes a lot further with Orion women than roses."

Jim looked at him sidelong.

Giotto tipped his head thoughtfully. "I'd recommend a jacket without chains."

"Good to know." Jim gave him a wary grin. "By the way, just how serious is the 'uncle' thing? I mean, if she drops by to see me tonight, you aren't going to feel like you should defend her virtue, right?"

"Gaila is quite capable of defending her own definition of virtue." Sam smiled and cocked an eyebrow. "But if you cross her again, don't expect me to protect you."

* * *

_AN: _Startrekbingo _at LJ challenged me to come up with a Giotto & Gaila story, so yes there is a back story (maybe two) and someday I may finish writing it. However, this story actually began with the idea of tech books being Jim's other porn and then Gaila up and decided to pop in and take over (sometimes I have no control over my characters)._

_SI = Starfleet Intelligence _

_Ama = Orion for 'Mom'  
_

___SERE = Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape (a course otherwise known as 'hell')  
_

_The reference to Kirk flirting with Tellarites is from the first ToSC series. The idea that losing Gaila would make Jim re-evaluate the way he treated women came after a 9/11 reflection reminded me of _**Spockchick**_'s '_They dropped like stars, like petals from a rose_' (look for it in my favorites).  
_

_Please r&r_


	19. Babysitting

**Babysitting**

_Because taking care of children is always an adventure_

* * *

"_Please_, sir," the ensign pleaded.

Cmdr. Giotto considered the pint-sized horde that had stormed past her into the practice room the moment his hand-to-hand class had departed. Two of the kids were quite literally bouncing off the walls. It was just a good thing everything at child-level was padded.

"I thought you liked children, Margolis."

"I do, sir," she replied sourly, eying her unruly charges. "At the moment, I'd like them chained to a wall."

Sam suppressed a chuckle. He'd once seen Kathy face down a pair of Klingons twice her size, but five small children were apparently more than she could handle. It was a fact that gave him considerable pause with respect to signing on as relief babysitter.

"Isn't there anyone else who can watch them, Ensign?"

"Sickbay is still busy with the Nanny and _you_ assigned Lt. Hanlan to the Ambassador." That last had verged on accusation and because Margolis had developed an acute feel for the boundaries of insubordination, she quickly added "Sir."

"I see," he said flatly.

"I'm sorry, sir. I just can't think of who else could handle them and- " Her eyes suddenly darted to where the two oldest boys had started smacking each other with sparring gloves.

"_Hey!_ Stop. That. _Now_. All of you, line up!" She turned and stalked, hands on hips, to the crookedly assembling line of kids and fixed them each with a fierce glare. "I am _talking_ to my CO. Any one of you who so much as _moves_ before I'm done **will** regret it."

The children froze and Giotto smiled to himself. The jury was out on Margolis' mothering skills, but someday she was going to make a fine commander. "If you ask me, Ensign, you seem to have the situation well in hand."

Margolis frowned, paced back to stand right in front of him, and lowered her voice. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Granted."

"I promised the Captain that I'd make sure nothing happened to them," Kathy glanced down, worrying her lower lip for a moment, "but if I don't get a break soon, sir, I'm afraid _I'm_ going to happen to them."

That had not been an easy admission, especially for someone like Margolis. However to Giotto it was a sign of real progress. He knew from personal experience that the first step in learning to control a hair-trigger temper was to recognize when it was building to a snap. The next was to find a way to stand down before it did.

Unfortunately, that meant that he couldn't in good conscience refuse her request. "Alright, Ensign, go work off some steam. I don't have anything scheduled until 14:00."

"_Thank you_, sir." She turned back to the children, nodding to each of them in turn. "Jorel, Hansi, Ferg, Tors, Margo, this is Mr. Giotto. He's going to take care of you for a little bit. I expect you to be really, _really_ good for him."

Giotto stepped up next to her and nodded to the children. Margolis whispered "They're all yours, sir. Watch out for the girl; she bites." Then she hurried out of the room.

Five small faces looked up at him - two sets of twin boys barely a year apart and one little girl about a year younger than any of them. The Ambassador must have desperately wanted a girl, because the only other explanation was insanity. Although he'd never had children of his own, Sam came from a large extended family and had spent a certain amount of his adolescence pressed in service minding younger cousins. That had been quite some time ago, but small children weren't, as he recalled, that much more difficult to handle that suicidally cocky ensigns (or Captains for that matter).

The oldest twins were beginning to take on a calculating look. Giotto figured that he had a small advantage in that they'd seen him tossing grown-ups around the room during a multi-attacker drill at the end of class. However, the oldest boys were old enough to have some concept that children, and Ambassador's children in particular, could not, in general, be manhandled by adults. He was going to have to find a way to engage their interest in something constructive or the situation was going to quickly devolve into total madness.

Fortunately, they were already in a padded room. Sam smiled at the children and then casually fell backward, rolling over his left shoulder and up onto one knee, hands in a ready position. He grinned, did a quick forward roll and smoothly popped up standing in front them. Judging by the expressions, that had gotten their attention.

"So, who'd like to learn how to do that?"

Five hands shot upward.

.

* * *

.

Kirk hurried toward the practice room. When he'd overheard Margolis say that she'd 'left the little hellions with Pop', his stomach had clenched.

Sure, Giotto had been tagged 'Pop' (whether he liked it or not) because a lot of people, especially in Security, viewed him as a father-figure. But while Sam was a good guy and patient to a fault, he was also stiff, formal, and just a little scary - definitely more of the '_Just wait till you're Father gets home_' type of father-figure. That was an almost ideal image for a Security Chief, and it worked nicely in terms of keeping junior officers in line, but these were little children. No matter how difficult they might be, they didn't deserve to be left standing at attention, too terrified to blink.

Given his concerns, Jim was astonished to hear a chorus of child-like whoops coming from the practice room. That turned to alarm upon reaching the door, where he saw Giotto face down on the floor with five children sitting on his back.

Jeez. No wonder Margolis had been frazzled. In fact, Kirk had to wonder how just one nanny had ever managed a group of kids capable of taking out his Security Chief.

Jim was just beginning to think that maybe he should page medical, when Giotto let out a roar and heaved himself into push-up, which seemed to be a cue for the children to catapult off his back in enthusiastic but wobbly forward rolls.

The kids immediately bounced to their feet, shouting "Again! Again!"

The Chief rolled onto his back with a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan. "I think we should try a different game now."

"Just one more," Hansi begged.

Margo fell to her knees leaning over Giotto. "_Pweese_."

He smiled kindly, but shook his head. "Sorry, sweetheart, that's enough for today."

Considering how little advantage youthful energy ever gave him in sparring with Giotto, it was hard for Kirk not to enjoy, just a little, seeing him worn down by a bunch of kids.

"Aw, Chief," Jim scolded lightly as he stepped into the room. "How can you turn down a girl as pretty as that?"

Sam rolled onto his side and gave him a look. "You want to take over, Captain?"

"Pweese, Cap'n Jim!" Margo jumped up and Kirk suddenly founded himself circled by kids chanting "Captain Jim! Captain Jim!"

Well, Sam was in really good shape for someone his age, but Jim was easily just as fit. How hard could it be? "Sure, I can do a few."

"Yeah!"

Giotto moved into a sitting position and stretched his back as Kirk lower himself to the floor. "Captain, you're going to want to-"

"I get shoulders now!" Margo called, landing with more force than someone her size should have been able to generate. Four more thuds landed along his back and hips.

Oof. He looked up at his CSO. "You were going to say something about bracing myself, weren't you?"

Giotto moved his eyebrows in the facial equivalent of a shrug. "And that it's a lot easier if the biggest kids are seated closest to your shoulders."

"Awwww," Margo moaned. "I wanna go highest."

Keeping the greatest mass near the lift points made a lot of sense, but how did you say 'no' to a sweet little girl like that? Besides, he used do a few push-ups with someone sitting on his back to impress the ladies, and these kids together were only about as heavy as a grown man. "You stay right where you are, honey. Don't worry, Captain Jim is _really strong_."

"Yeah!" Margo bounced happily between his shoulder blades.

Oof. Again. He glanced up to catch Giotto biting back a chuckle. Okay, _maybe_ he'd deserved that.

"Alright, kids, here we go." It was harder than expected - five squirming bodies was a lot different than one sedentary mass - but Jim rose (almost) smoothly into a full push up. And held it ...and held it... No one was exiting the platform of his back. "Go on. Roll."

"Not like that," Tors complained.

"Yeah," Ferg added. "The Red Dragon has to roar so we know he's rising."

"_Then_ we dive away," Jorel finished.

"Roar!" Jim managed with as much breath as abdominal muscles clenched to support the load would allow.

There was a worrying pause as the kids weighed whether that counted, but they finally dove off, making his spine twist with the scatter-shot of reaction forces from their launches.

Jim put his knees down and sat up, glaring at a far-too-amused 'Red Dragon'.

"A little story always makes an exercise more interesting," Sam offered innocently.

Uh-huh. And if he knew his Security Chief, Giotto had been working some sneaky lesson in patience into making them wait for the dragon to roar.

"You could've warned me."

"I figured you could manage," he replied matter-of-factly. "I hear Gold Dragons are _really strong_."

Jim bit his lower lip, containing a laugh. "We are."

Margo tugged on his sleeve. "Again, Cap'n Jim?"

Four brothers, all wearing hopeful grins, were arrayed behind her. Little sneaks, using their cute baby sister to get their way.

"Alright, but be careful... or I might eat you up!" He roared and grabbed her.

"Stop!" Giotto ordered, but teeth had already clamped down on the fleshy part of Jim's hand. Ouch.

"Margo," Giotto scolded patiently. "We've discussed this. The Captain is only _pretending_ to be a bad guy. You may _not_ bite him to get away."

"Sowwy, Mr. Giwotto." Margo hung her head, pouting; a perfect picture of preschool contrition. "Sowwy, Cap'n Jim."

Despite the neat row of red indentations on his hand, Jim's heart melted. "That's okay, honey. Just don't do it again." He gave her an exaggerated frown. "If Dr. Bones sees teeth marks, he's going to jab me with a hypo again."

There were a couple giggles. He really did hate hypos, but he'd totally hammed it up to distract the kids from the fact that their nanny had been rushed into sickbay puffed up like a balloon (and the fact that both of them had been half-dressed at the time. Jim was never ever buying exotic body oils from an 'organic' merchant again). He pushed himself back up into a sitting position.

"Okay, since I'm a new dragon, I think I better have the _old_ dragon," Jim grinned at Giotto, "explain the _whole_ game to me."

Giotto's eyes had narrowed just slightly at the 'old' comment, and Jim figured that he'd be learning yet another way that his body could hit a mat the next time they sparred, but for now Sam proceeded to explain.

"It's pretty simple. A brave group of children have tracked down the dragon that's been preying on their village. It's sleeping when they find it, so they all band together and pin it to ground." The Chief looked up thoughtfully. "Of course, it's a very sneaky dragon, so it plays possum until it thinks it can catch them off-guard and then rises up with a roar to _eat them all_." He leaned toward the children making a hungry dragon face that earned a few squealing laughs. "Fortunately the children know how to roll away and come up ready to run or fight, so the Red Dragon hasn't gotten a single morsel to eat yet."

Jim almost laughed. 'Pop' was actually pretty good with kids - who knew? - and the kids were getting lessons in tumbling, awareness, and patience all rolled into a game they were begging to continue. He was looking at a very sneaky dragon indeed. Not to mention a hungry one if that last statement was as any kind of hint.

"Why don't you go track down some slower game for lunch," he suggested. "I think I can take over until Margolis gets back."

"Thank you, sir," Giotto said, getting to his feet. "I could use a stationary meal."

"Go, Chief," Kirk ordered with a chuckle. "Just tell me, what other games have you guys been playing?"

"None so far. I was originally having them do back rolls if the dragon stirred before they could pin it down, but they kept running into each other." The Chief shrugged and gave him a wry smile. "They'd worked pretty hard on getting the forward rolls right, so I figured we'd just have fun with those for awhile."

_Yeah, and under that stern exterior, you're every bit as much of a sucker for a cute little girl as I am_. Jim ran a quick mental estimate of how long it had taken to teach rolls before starting the game and gave Sam a knowing grin. "Define 'awhile'."

"An hour or so," Giotto smiled as he headed for the door. "In the words of an old friend, I dare you to do better."

* * *

_AN: Backward shoulder rolls are harder to learn and you tend to roll a little sideways until you get them down. Harder still is teaching them to several little boys who think bumping into each other is fun (trust me on this).  
_

_This story was inspired by two things. The first was watching my Dad (aka Pop-Pop) wrestle with the kids so I could rest. The second was my son deciding he wanted to 'ride' while I was doing push-ups. Gah! I was actually grateful for the torn muscle in my calf since it meant I was doing the modified version on my knees._

_Yes, someday there may be a story about Sam becoming a father for real, but not just yet._

_Please r&r_


	20. Quiet Gestures

**Quiet Gestures  
**

_Because the language of love is not always spoken aloud  
_

* * *

Giotto used his security code to slip into his wife's office and placed a card, a small box and a red rose on her desk.

No one would ever accuse him of being a romantic, but neither would anyone ever accuse him of being a complete fool. It was their first Valentine's Day as a married couple and he intended to celebrate it. Quietly and discreetly, since Denise was likely to call medical and have him scanned for mind-altering substances if he did anything overly demonstrative, but a hand-written note with chocolates and a flower should work.

He slipped back out feeling relatively pleased with that effort. He'd picked up a good bottle of wine with the chocolate so later tonight they'd have a nice dinner in their quarters and if he was lucky, whatever Denise had recently ordered from an Orion catalog would be part of his present. Sam smiled to himself. Love might be blind, but that didn't mean that he didn't enjoy seeing the woman he loved in sexy lingerie.

"Mr. Giotto, do you have a moment?"

Pleasant fantasy evaporated at the reminder that there were six more hours of Alpha shift between now and any hope of fulfilling it.

"Yes, Mr. Spock. What do you need?"

The First Officer's eyebrows tipped upward. "Was there a reason for entering the diplomatic liaison's office at a time when you are aware that she would not be present?"

Busted. However this was not something he wanted to try to explain to a Vulcan. "It's a personal matter, Mr. Spock."

"I see." Spock paused, brows drawing back down. "I do not wish to intrude upon your private affairs, Mr. Giotto, but would I be correct in surmising that this incursion was related to Valentine's Day?"

With nearly anyone else, Giotto would have responded that his private affairs were just that - private. However, Spock was not given to asking personal questions out of idle curiosity and was, moreover, looking somewhat uncomfortable, at least for a Vulcan.

"It would be a fair assumption. May I ask if there's a reason for this line of inquiry?"

"I am ...in need of advice. Valentine's Day is not a Federation holiday nor is it universally celebrated even among humans." Spock looked downward. "However, I believe I may have been in error in overlooking the holiday last year."

Ah. That would explain why most of the Communications department had been working extra hard to make sure their performance was completely beyond reproach for a good part of last February. "And you'd prefer to avoid repeating the same error."

Spock nodded. "The Captain has advised that I, in his words, 'go big' to compensate for my prior omission. I confess that I find the prospect of such a display rather ...disconcerting."

"Quite understandably," Giotto agreed. Lt. Uhura would probably find it pretty disconcerting too. If Denise would start scanning for spores if he 'went big', Uhura was likely to think that Spock had been abducted and replaced by some sort of shape-shifting alien.

"Indeed. I therefore wished to obtain a second opinion," Spock's head tipped slightly sideways, "preferably from someone with more experience in maintaining a stable relationship."

In other words, from someone who wasn't trying to figure out how to meet both of the women he'd picked up in the starbase lounge yesterday without either of them finding out about the other, or about the nine boxes of specialty chocolates that had been ordered for various other women scattered across the quadrant. Giotto would have been quite content not to know about any of that either, but he'd learned the hard way that allowing the Captain wander unescorted around a supposedly safe commercial district was practically daring the universe to generate some spectacularly unlikely disaster. And he'd needed to shop for chocolate anyway.

"My experience with apologizing for romantic slights isn't quite as extensive as the Captain's." Sam cleared his throat slightly. " However, in my opinion, if a relationship has been maintained day-to-day, a simple, thoughtful gesture should be sufficient to acknowledge the holiday. Of course, it helps if the woman in question shares that opinion."

"There is logic to that advice," Spock acknowledged. "Although I am uncertain to what extent logic maybe said to apply to this holiday." He exhaled in way that was almost a sigh. "Nor am I certain what would qualify as an appropriate gesture."

The tacit plea for help hung in the air and Giotto suppressed a sigh as well. He was really the last person that anyone - except apparently Spock - would come to for this sort of advice and he was more than happy with that state of affairs. However, some creative horse-trading on Uhura's part had resulted in an upgrade to an actual queen size bed instead of the not-quite-double that was usual standard for married quarters. Helping Spock work out how to handle Valentine's Day was the least he could do.

"The traditional gesture is a card expressing affection, but adding a small gift and flowers never hurts."

Spock pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I have researched the tradition of exchanging cards, and there is a copy of Dr. Malbrot's 'Guide to Sylerian Grammar' that I had originally procured as a birthday gift..."

On some level that Giotto didn't care to examine too closely, a guide to an obscure grammar from Uhura's former linguistics instructor probably counted as romantic gift. He nodded, ready to escape this conversation. "Then I'd say you have the gift covered."

"Flowers however present a difficulty. I have been informed that red roses are the appropriate floral offering. Indeed, the Captain suggested that I fill her quarters with several dozen bouquets." The Vulcan's eyebrows drew downward. "However, there are none remaining in either the ship's arboretum or the floral shop on the starbase."

That wasn't surprising. Sam had only managed to get a single blossom because he'd promised to teach Sulu some of the bat'leth moves he'd learned from Kurleth (not that Kurleth had actually intended to teach him anything, but it was amazing how fast you could learn when the alternative was being hacked into little pieces). However he had had a back-up plan in case that one fell through.

"There's nothing wrong with giving her a small bouquet of her favorite flowers," Sam offered. "Associating red roses with romantic love is just a historical artifact of the Victorian fascination with the language of flowers."

Eyebrows shot upward. "'_Language_ of Flowers'?"

"Yes." Sam paused, realizing what he'd just unwittingly suggested. Huh. Some part of his subconscious was apparently a lot better at romantic ideas than he was. "In fact, the Victorians used it as a way to send coded messages between lovers who couldn't express their feelings openly."

Spock blinked, the corners of his mouth bowing slightly upward. "Thank you, Mr. Giotto. I shall contact the book sellers on Starbase 12 immediately."

As Giotto watched him stride off purposefully, it occurred to him that he had just given an obsessive scholar a new field to examine and since the original version of floriography wasn't strictly for romantic messages, it was quite extensive. Uhura might well be getting some rather interesting bouquets in the future, but hopefully the first one would express a Valentine's sentiment that would make the day better for all concerned.

There was only one downside. Chances that Spock doing something thoughtful and romantic would stay out of ship scuttlebutt were essentially nil. That upped the ante for everyone else. Sam turned down a side passage, detouring toward the kitchens to set some supplies aside for later. Denise liked flowers well enough, but nothing said 'I love you' like homemade cannoli.

* * *

_AN: I've been fighting a persistent strain of bronchitis and was too far under the weather (not to mention the influence of cough syrup with codeine) to finish this for Valentine's Day. There's a Spock/Uhura companion piece that I hope to eventually finish as a stand alone showing the results of Spock's study of floriography._

_Please r&r_


	21. Memorial

**Memorial**

_Propter dulce et decorum est..._

* * *

Giotto stared out at the station platform erected across an expanse of twisted metal: a memorial constructed from the debris of nine shattered ships, the closest thing to a final resting place that over half of an Academy class would ever know.

They'd been so young...

Sam closed his eyes, but faces stared back from his memory. The cost of war always fell heaviest on the young. His own Academy class had been reduced to a mere fraction by four years of brutal system-by-system combat against an enemy that considered 'scorched earth' a first strike strategy.

Cities reduced to burning slag...whole colonies laid waste...  
...And still it paled in comparison to what had happened here in the span of just a few hours.

_'Died some, pro patria, non 'dulce' non 'et decor'...'_

"Mr. Giotto?"

The query returned him to the present, but he didn't turn around. Uhura was too good at reading past even the most carefully controlled expression. "Yes?"

A pause. "Are you alright, sir?"

And reading body language, even from behind. However he was as 'alright' as anyone here and probably better than most. His only memories of the Battle of Vulcan were the drop from warp to a field of shattered starships, then explosions rocking his station, a moment of intense pain... Days later he'd woken in a cocoon of medical equipment to learn that Death had swallowed a planet whole, along with most of a graduating class and scores of old friends and colleagues. But it had spit him out. Again. Sometimes Giotto thought the only thing he really had in common with the young people on this ship was a deep-seated desire to slap anyone who thoughtlessly called them 'lucky'.

"I'm fine. Just taking a moment for reflection."

"I understand." Uhura's tone conveyed more than simple understanding. A weight of grief and empathy; her own losses plus whatever she was able to bear of Spock's.

Sam was suddenly ashamed to have retreated, even for this brief period. A natural introvert, his instinct was to withdraw; but as someone in a position of leadership, his obligation was to be strong and visible, a steadying presence.

"How long until the ceremony, Ms. Uhura?"

"A little over an hour, but the Captain would like you to review his speech. He'd like a veteran's opinion."

Her words were soft but the impact hit like a slap. He often treated them like they were green, because they were, but not in this. Giotto turned to face her. "Lieutenant, every one of you is a veteran."

A mix of emotion - pride, sorrow, something unnameable - flashed across her expression and was just quickly pushed aside. Uhura straightened, lifting her chin. "Shall I relay that to the Captain?"

"No. I will." It was time and past time. Giotto tugged down his dress tunic, but paused.

Uhura stood quietly, waiting to be dismissed, and Sam could almost see the cloud of memories barely held at bay. It made him recall a different young veteran at the first memorial of his generation's war, and how he'd struggled to maintain a stoic demeanor while listening to a roll call of deaths that had been neither 'sweet' nor 'fitting'. A long list of friends named as heroes because they had died.

'_Dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori_...'

They had been heroes. Not because they had died, but because they had dedicated their lives, even at the cost of losing them, to something greater than themselves - the same as those who would be remembered today, both as heroes and as friends.

Giotto met Uhura's eyes, just long enough for understanding to pass between them. "This is a good place for a private vigil, Lieutenant. Would you mind holding it for me?"

* * *

_AN: I haven't been writing humor lately and unlike most of the tales here, this isn't humor. However, it seemed fitting._

_Latin:_ Dulce _= sweet_, decor _= proper/fitting_, pro patria _= for one's country  
_

_'Dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori' = 'Sweet and fitting it is to die for one's country' _

_The phrase is from an ode by the Roman poet Horace and is found at many war memorials, including Arlington National Cemetery. The first quote is from a poem by Ezra Pound, who like many shocked by the massive losses of WWI, took issue with the sentiment (as did Wilfred Owen in the more famous poem objecting to that phrase) - a justifiable reaction to the era's wartime propaganda, but it made the lives lost in that war, or any other, no less worth remembering. _


	22. Locked In

**Locked In**

_Because the truth may not set you free, but sometimes you need to share it anyway  
_

* * *

.

Light flashed across his pupils and Giotto tried to blink. Nothing. His body lay unmoving, an inert mass unaffected by his will. How had he wound up like this?

"No response." McCoy shook his head and closed Sam's eyelids for him. "I don't know what else to try."

Footsteps sounded as someone paced. Kirk, judging by the weight and cadence. "There's got to be some way to snap him out of whatever that witch threw at us."

Ah. Now it was coming back. The Alien Babe of Week had used a pretty face to cover some ugly motives.

"I'm a doctor, Jim, not a warlock! Alien hexes were _not_ covered in Academy Medical."

"It wasn't a hex - that wand projected some sort of field. We just have to figure out what it did to him."

"Yeah," McCoy puffed a frustrated breath. "Except that according to my instruments, it didn't _do_ anything. No brain damage, no nerve damage, nothing - there's no _scientific, medical _ reason that Sam shouldn't just stand up and...and yell at you for being a _damn idiot_."

Usually Giotto left the yelling to the Doctor, but now that events were coming back to him there were a few words he'd like to have with his Captain. Provided, that is, that he'd be capable of using words again.

"Alright, Bones, I should have listened to you," Kirk admitted in a conciliatory tone. "But we need to focus on figuring out how to unfreeze him."

"He's not frozen," McCoy corrected irritably. "His heart's beating, he's breathing on his own, but it's like everything else has been disconnected."

A completely locked-in state - it was something Sam had read about, but the last cases had been in the 21st century, before the medical advances that had come after First Contact. If he was stuck like this... It didn't bear considering. He made another attempt to move, speak. Nothing. He might as well be frozen in carbonite.

"What about senses?" The sound of pacing stopped. "Do you think he can hear us?"

"I don't know, Jim. Brain wave patterns look like someone who's awake, but we've got no way of knowing if he's aware of what's going on here or if whatever she did is making him think he's somewhere else."

"You mean like in 'The Matrix'?" Two steps and Kirk's voice came from directly above him. "Chief, take the red pill."

_Thwack_. It was a sound Giotto would have recognized anywhere: McCoy smacking Kirk across the back of the head. At least in this state he didn't have to worry about suppressing a smile.

"Dammit, Jim, this isn't one of your stupid 'classic' films!"

"Alright, I know, but look, this place seems to operate on ideas out of old stories - curses, magic wands, the beautiful but evil enchantress..." Kirk snapped his fingers. "Sleeping Beauty!"

There was a brief pause as the idea of Fairy Tale Princess collided with the reality of grizzled Security Chief.

"You've got to be kidding," McCoy pronounced flatly.

"Hey, this was meant for _me_."

"Like I said..."

"C'mon, Bones, I'm beautiful - in a rugged, manly sort of way."

Sam could almost hear the Doctor's eyeroll.

"My _point_," the Captain continued, "is that if our medical technology isn't advanced enough to get around this version of Clark's 3rd Law, maybe we can plug into the 'magic' side to beat it."

"How, Jim? Even if we could steal her magic wand, I don't like the odds of trying to unzap him without the user's manual." McCoy heaved an exasperated sigh. "The way our luck's going, it'd probably backfire and turn you into a frog."

"So, you'd just have to kiss me and -" Fingers snapped. "That's it!"

Oh, dear God, no. If they were going to try that, Giotto sincerely hoped that not being able to move his lips meant that he'd have no sensation in them either.

"Dammit, Jim, he's _not _a princess!"

A set of arriving footsteps stopped abruptly. "I must concur with the Doctor's observation, Captain."

Spock. _Finally_ - the voice of logic and reason.

"Moreover," the Science Officer continued. "In the context of the assumed 'magical' system of operation, the kiss would have to be bestowed by a prince."

Argh. If Giotto could have banged his head on the table, he would have. So much for logic and reason...

"Spock, you're family's descended from Surak. In Vulcan terms doesn't that make you...?" Kirk's query trailed off abruptly, undoubtedly run aground on a sharply elevated eyebrow.

"I am not a prince." There was slight clearing of throat, the sound of a Vulcan reconciling himself to the necessity of responding to a clearly illogical suggestion. "And I believe it would useful at this juncture to reiterate the Doctor's observation that Mr. Giotto is not a princess."

Why exactly did that bear so much repeating? Sam was beginning to wonder if the witch had done more than paralyze him...

"Okay, then what do you suggest?" Kirk challenged. "Find Glenda the Good Witch to unspell him?"

"While a good witch, could one be found, might be of benefit, the internal logic of fairy tales suggests an alternate remedy: True Love."

"Why, Spock," McCoy drawled, "I would've never figured you for a romantic."

"I am not." Sam could just picture the eyebrow lift, as well as the minute straightening of spine that he'd long ago identified as a sign Spock was being less than 100% honest. "I merely note that in human stories 'True Love's Kiss' is a frequently recurring theme with respect to antidotes for magical curses."

"No problem then," Kirk said. "We just have to get back to the ship and explain to Denise that she's Prince Charming."

In Sam's opinion (not that he could share it) having Denise kiss him was an infinitely better idea - even if it meant that he was likely to be teased about the role reversal for the foreseeable future.

"_Just_ get back to the ship, Jim? How? Click our ruby slippers?" McCoy snorted irritably. "Besides, I've got some doubts about this true love theory."

"Bones, just because _your_ marriage wasn't true love -"

"That's not what I meant!" McCoy snapped. "Even if your cockamamie theory about fairy tale magic working here is true, (a) we'd be back on the ship and (b) true love had nothing to do with Sleeping Beauty - the prince in the original story had never even seen her before. The whole damn thing was about lust and a sheltered virgin awakened by sexual desire."

Another pause. Sam was certainly capable of lust, particularly where Denise was concerned, but trying to imagine him in the role of innocent young maiden set new records for cognitive dissonance.

The Captain gave a resigned sigh. "Alright, forget Sleeping Beauty."

Finally. Now maybe they could move on to something useful.

"What about the 'Matrix' idea? Hear me out," Kirk insisted quickly. "Maybe he's in some sort of hallucinatory trance and if we can make him realize it's an illusion, he'll snap out of it."

Or not. God, but Giotto wished he could communicate - at least blink 'yes' and 'no'.

"Cataleptic oneirotaxia..." McCoy muttered. "It's possible, Jim, but I've already tried anti-cataleptics and I'm fresh out of magic red pills."

"It's alright, Bones. You've done all you can." Kirk paused a beat. "Spock, do you think you could reach him?"

_Frak. No._ He needed to be more careful what he wished for. If Giotto had been capable of physical reaction, his skin would've crawled. It was a completely irrational response, but he couldn't help it. Modern psychiatry could do a lot, but having your mind ripped open was not something you ever quite got over.

"Captain, Mr. Giotto does not welcome telepathic contact."

Now there was an understatement. It had taken months before he could sit calmly with a Betazoid counselor, tolerate even passive reading of his surface thoughts... If Spock touched his mind, it would be all he could do to hold back a flare of violent emotion. Not only was that one of the few defenses available to the psi-null, but in Sam's case it was a deeply ingrained reaction.

"I know, Spock, but you're not a security risk," Kirk argued in a far too reasonable tone. "He knows he can trust you."

Giotto mentally ran through an extensive list of expletives. This was what he got for using a perfectly reasonably assumption to hide a perfectly unreasonable phobia. The worst part was that he really did trust Spock - which just made the caged-animal fear clawing at the back of his mind all the more appalling.

And disgraceful. It was normal to shy from exposing the dark corners of your psyche, but a deep dread of having his mind touched at all was what Sam most wanted to hide - a fact which only compounded the problem, especially while he was completely immobilized, held more thoroughly than by the shackles when -

"Jim," the Doctor cut in urgently. "His brain waves have shifted - frontal high-beta, like a fight-or-flight response."

_Yeah. No kidding_. Sam struggled to fight that back. The techniques he'd learned required small levels of physical control - breathing, visual focus, muscle relaxation - none of which were available now. He put his whole will into another attempt to move, even just pause his breath. Nothing. He'd been pinned under a bulkhead once - it had hurt a lot more, but at least he'd been able to yell.

"Spock, I'll take full responsibly, but if there's any chance that a mind meld can help, I need you to try." There was a pause, a barely audible swallow. "Whatever he's going through, it was meant for me."

Kirk's voice betrayed distress - not as much as Sam felt, but enough to bring him up short. In the Captain's place, he would have responded the same way; no matter what triggers telepathy might spring in his own mind, he'd use the resource if it seemed necessary. And his own stupid spiking anxiety had just made it seem necessary. Of all the damn Catch-22s...

"I understand, Captain," Spock acknowledged. "It will take a moment for me to prepare."

_Take all the time you want. Please_. Sam desperately cast about in his mind for a focus, something to fix his thoughts on, to hold onto against an unreasoning panic...

The image that arrived just before the words 'My mind to your mind' reached his ears was probably proof that the stress of the situation had driven him around the bend.

* * *

.

Jim nearly jumped when Spock's hands suddenly flew back from Giotto's face.

"What happened?"

The Vulcan blinked and swayed slightly before recovering his composure. "Mr. Giotto requested that I depart."

"Uh-huh." Bones eyed him skeptically and pulled out his scanner, muttering under his breath about green-blooded hobgoblin voodoo.

"I am unharmed, Doctor," Spock admonished. "Disorientation is a perfectly normal, and temporary, side effect of terminating an incomplete mind meld."

Incomplete - that didn't sound good. "Why did you pull back so quickly?"

"As I stated, Mr. Giotto requested it." An eyebrow lifted, betraying mild bafflement that his companions didn't seem to find that explanation sufficient. "He conveyed that he is aware of the present situation and then entreated me, rather emphatically, to withdraw. Naturally, I obliged."

Why would Giotto tell Spock to leave, opting to remain incommunicado, locked in himself? It was the last choice Jim would ever make. Unless... "Spock, could he have been under some sort of duress?"

"Our exchange was quite limited, but I did receive the impression that there was something from which he wished to shield me."

"And you left_ anyway_?" McCoy demanded.

"Bones..." Jim warned, holding a hand up to postpone a tirade. He turned to Spock. "You said it was an impression. What exactly did you see?"

"In the initial stage of a mind meld each party meets a representation of the other. Usually there is an interiorscape, such as an image of home. However, Mr. Giotto appeared with his back pressed to a barrier as though attempting to hold it closed against increasing pressure." Spock paused, head tilting to the side. "Strangely, he was clutching a towel."

"A towel?" Kirk chewed on that moment. Giotto would 'neither confirm nor deny', but Jim was sure he'd been in SI. He might not like telepathy, but he must have had experience with it, and with covert signals. "Spock, if he couldn't share anything directly, could that image have been a clue?"

"That is a possibility, although I fail to perceive its meaning."

"Hmm... a towel makes me think of drying off." Bones rubbed his chin, brows drawn in pensive look. "I always thought it was some analogy about baptism, but my Granny used to tell a story about how dark magic couldn't cross running water."

"An interesting observation," Spock remarked pedantically, like a professor discussing comparative mythology. "A broad spectrum of folklore does include the concept that water is inimical to magic." His lips pursed, one eyebrow ascending. "One wonders if it might be related to Clark's 3rd Law; there are numerous examples of advanced technologies that are also adversely affected by water."

* * *

.

Giotto sat in a recovery room, grateful to be sitting up on his own and to have been no worse than soaking wet when his wife had seen him beamed aboard. Denise worried, and Kirk's joking explanation about 'Sleeping Beauty meets John the Baptist' hadn't exactly reassured her (although Sam had gotten a kiss for good measure). He had some hope - and felt more than usual need - for more than that, but it would have to wait until a lingering pins-and-needles sensation cleared enough for him to be released from sickbay.

In the meantime he had distractions, such as the spectacle of Nurse Chapel attempting to dry McCoy's hair, despite the CMO's protests.

"You may be the doctor here, but you're just as wet and cold as the rest," Chapel insisted, all but throwing the towel over his head. "Not to mention a safety hazard - you're dripping all over the floor."

"Fine," McCoy conceded grumpily, rubbing the towel over his scalp. "Now, go turn up the heat in here and stop pestering me."

"Yes, _Doctor_." Chapel stalked off with an expression suggesting she didn't see much difference between 'doctor' and 'ornery child'.

"Tsk, Bones," Kirk chided teasingly. "I thought Southern Baptists were supposed be all happy hallelujahs after they got to dunk someone."

"Shut up, Jim." McCoy shot him a decidedly unChristian glare.

Going from no sensation to drenched in ice cold water had been a bit of a shock, but in Sam's opinion this 'baptism' had done more good than whatever had been performed on him as baby. "I do appreciate it, although I thought only the Captain was going to carry me into the river."

"Well, that was the plan," Kirk pulled at the back of his neck with a somewhat sheepish expression, "but the current was stronger than expected and the rocks underneath were pretty slippery."

"When the Captain lost his footing, the Doctor and I decided it would be best to assist," Spock explained.

"What he _means_ is that when Jim went under, we dove in to try to keep the both of you from drowning." McCoy's shoulders twitched with an involuntary shiver. "Fortunately, running water also snapped whatever spell was hiding us from the ship's sensors, so Scotty beamed us out before we froze our butts off."

A Vulcan eyebrow rose. "I do not believe that that is physiologically possible."

McCoy raised his higher. "You want to go back down and find out?"

"Gentlemen, please, what matters is that it worked." Kirk turned to Giotto with a sly grin. "A towel - I don't know what it took to slip anything past that barrier, but that was a clever hint."

Sam pressed his lips together. It was a bad idea to let too many people know your weaknesses and he'd been declared fit for duty years ago, which should be enough. Someone in intel had even decided it was an advantage - an operative they expected to go mad before a mind probe could extract anything important was a potential asset...

"You gave us what we needed, Sam." McCoy's assurance conveyed caring and support; a reminder that he was among friends here.

At what point did the walls you built for defense turn into a prison? Giotto consciously relaxed hands that had tightened on the coffee warming them. Trust didn't come easily for him, but that shouldn't be the issue here. He knew these men well enough to know that they'd never use this against him.

He shook his head, a gesture he would have sold his soul to be able to make an hour ago. "I didn't give you anything. It was pure luck that you interpreted a towel way you did."

"I do not understand." Spock's brows drew down. "If that was not intended to indicate water, what did it signify?"

He wasn't likely to understand it, but Spock deserved an honest answer. Giotto expelled a short breath. "'Don't panic'."

"Seriously?" The Captain sounded torn between laughter and concern.

Trust Kirk to know that reference. Sam nodded, letting his mouth go a bit sideways. "I had ...some difficulty... coping with the situation."

"Chief, being trapped in your own body like that, completely paralyzed," Kirk's lips twisted like he'd bitten something sour, "a lot of people would've felt like panicking."

"That part was frustrating, but it wasn't..." He glanced at Spock's face and dropped his eyes back to his coffee. How did you tell someone you liked and respected that part of you had nearly freaked out because he'd used a natural ability to try to help you? Especially when that person was Vulcan.

"Sam," the Doctor's voice held the soft drawl he used with a patient who might need something besides standard medicine. "Is this something we should let you discuss with Dr. Noel?"

It offered a tempting way out. The ship's counselor was one of two people onboard who knew the truth, and like Denise, she knew only as much as Sam had felt it necessary to share. Doctor-patient confidentiality would've covered the rest, but he already knew there was little she could offer to help. It wasn't worth unlocking a personal Pandora's box, especially one that showed no sign of hope at the bottom...

Giotto looked up at the men watching him with varying levels of concern. They were concerned for him as friends, but they were friends who depended on him. Things had worked out for the best this time, but under different circumstances he could become the weak link that none of them expected. No matter what it might cost him, they deserved the truth.

"There's an incident in my record that was scrubbed. Most of it is need-to-know only." Sam carefully drew a breath in; released it. "There's one part that I need to tell you..."

* * *

_AN: First, bonus points for anyone who catches all the references in this one._

_I wrote the opening months ago, shortly after a good friend had a severe stroke. She's doing much better now, but it's been a long process and the story has evolved along the way. _

_My initial thought was to play with the Sleeping Beauty tale, but not have it resolve so quickly. If True Love could work instant miracles, my friend's incredibly devoted husband would have healed her in a second. But somehow I couldn't make love the 'magic escape clause', even when it needed faith and patience to work. (Maybe that just hits too close to write yet). _

_Then at a certain point my friend was improving rapidly in muscle coordination, but not speech. The 'yes/no' was she was capable of made me think of Capt. Pike in the TOS episode_ 'The Cage'. _ It was terribly frustrating for her and made me wish I had telepathy so I could reach in and help her communicate. I've always sort of wondered why Spock didn't do that for Pike._

_With Giotto the answer is obvious, although he generally doesn't let anyone know more than that he doesn't care for telepathy_. _It's an aspect of his character that's been there from the beginning, but has only been touched on occasionally. I'd meant to explore it in a reboot of '_Spectre of the Gun' _(because Sam would obviously rather take a bullet than agree to a mind meld) but it wound up here._

_Please let me know if it worked._


	23. Moral Support

**Moral Support  
**

_Because moral support comes in many forms  
_

* * *

Giotto stood near the back of the room, trying not to think too loudly about the fact that he'd rather be nearly anywhere else. He was also wondering, very quietly, if he'd hacked off some local deity lately.

It hadn't been that long ago that a mission had taken a bad enough turn to convince him that at least the Captain, Spock and McCoy should know the truth about his aversion to telepathy. The fall out from that had barely settled when they'd received a distress call from a damaged ship - a ship carrying half a dozen Betazoids. And not just any Betazoids. One of them was Keeper of some bit of sacred crockery, which meant that she had to be accorded diplomatic honors.

However uncomfortable Giotto might be around telepaths, he genuinely loathed being stuck on display for dignitaries. Unfortunately, as a senior officer, it was part of the job.

"How're you holding up, Sam?" The query was almost a grumble, pitched to sound like an opening for commiseration, but McCoy's eyes betrayed underlying concern.

This sort of solicitous attention was yet another reason Giotto avoided revealing anything about having had his mind forced open. In hindsight, it probably would've been best to just inform the new CMO during a preliminary exam - back when he might have been filed as a crewman with an induced phobia, rather than a friend with a poorly healed wound. However, the incident that left that mark was classified and Sam had been handling it on his own for years now.

"I'm fine." He let his mouth go a little sideways. "Although I'll admit, standing around in a dress uniform is beginning to wear thin."

McCoy chuckled, ducking his head a bit. "I'm with you there."

Giotto couldn't read minds (and wouldn't want to), but he was very good at reading people. The doctor wasn't going to call him on it, but he also wasn't buying the idea that the formal occasion was the issue. Which meant that McCoy was going to stand here trying to be supportive whether Sam wanted him to or not.

"You could always claim you were needed in sickbay," he suggested.

The doctor arched an eyebrow in mild challenge. "You could have someone from Security page you."

Their eyes locked for a moment until the absurdity of the situation forced them both to swallow a laugh. Two senior (and theoretically intelligent) officers practically willing each other to play hooky in a room full of telepaths - the fact that none of the Betazoids had burst out laughing was probably proof that they weren't listening too closely to what anyone was thinking.

It was a comforting thought.

"I'll stay." Sam gave the doctor a wry smile. "Denise has to be here and I'd prefer not to sleep on the couch tonight."

McCoy returned a look that said he wasn't buying that one either. "I'm pretty sure she'd forgive you."

Probably. However, while their guests appeared to check out, Giotto had been in security too long to blindly accept transmitted credentials. Normally, no one would question that. He was a Security Chief; being a little paranoid was in the job description. This time... he'd seen the flicker of doubt on the Captain's face, the concerned looks, the swift exchange of glances. Part of him bridled at that, even as a more rational part admitted it wasn't entirely unfair. He'd be lying to say that he wasn't on edge, senses heightened as if a yellow alert was sounding.

On the other hand, knowing that he was being a little paranoid didn't mean that nothing was wrong. Giotto scanned the security detail he'd assigned anyway - an escort perfectly in keeping with protocol. If Zarxeana had sensed that he was less than thrilled with her presence, she had none the less accepted an honor guard as her aristocratic due.

"I should stay anyway."

McCoy puffed a short breath. "Never figured you for a masochist, Sam."

Considering that the amount of abuse he'd taken in this job had made masochism a running joke among certain old friends that was almost funny. Almost. Giotto shrugged. "I've had worse duty."

"Yeah, guess you have," the doctor conceded quietly, studying the drink in his glass. He took a sip and met Sam's eyes again. "You're gonna be okay here?"

"I am." While that which had not killed him had not made him stronger, neither had it left him an invalid. If he couldn't handle a situation like this, he would have been forced to accept a discharge.

Which didn't mean that there weren't aspects that he was finding difficult to handle. Sam glanced across the room to where Denise was trying to maintain some semblance of personal space. She'd told him - fairly pointedly - that she'd deal with it herself, but at least one of the Betazoids was getting under Giotto's skin for reasons that had nothing to do with telepathy.

"Although honestly, Doc, if I have to stand here being polite and dignified for much longer, I'm probably going to need something for a headache."

.

* * *

.

Spock noted the way Mr. Chekov's eyes widened, face assuming the buccal reddening often indicative of embarrassment, and found himself once again grateful for his own mental shields. Ironic that the sole telepath among the _Enterprise_'s crew should find himself so much in sympathy with Mr. Giotto's reaction to telepathy, but then most Vulcans regarded telepathic contact with strangers to be most unwelcome. Unfortunately, the Betazoid attitude toward telepathy resembled the Orion attitude toward carnal relations.

He cast a glance toward the place where Giotto was attempting to maintain a stoic visage despite McCoy's attempt at providing 'moral support'. In Spock's opinion, the Doctor's concern was misplaced. Giotto had stressed that his ...dismay... during their recent misadventure had been triggered by the combination of telepathic contact with physical paralysis. Moreover, he had shown no prior indication of impairment. Yet the present situation was troubling, and perhaps required 'moral support'.

"Excuse me, Mr. Spock. Could you arrange a tour of our arboretum?"

The ship's diplomatic liaison wore a strained smile as she gestured toward the man who had attached himself to her orbit with unseemly persistence. "Mr. Borrin is interested in seeing some of the night-blooming specimens."

Spock was not known for his ability to apprehend the nuances of indirect communication, but in this case the meaning was clear: help me get rid of this person without involving my husband. From a Vulcan perspective, Mr. Giotto had shown remarkable restraint, especially given the other challenges to his equanimity. Nyota had characterized it as a demonstration of trust between mates. However, while Spock trusted her implicitly, any man behaving toward her as Mr. Borrin was toward Mrs. Giotto would be venturing on a dangerously insufficient layer of ice.

"Based upon the ship's environmental cycle, those species will begin to open in approximately 0.36 hours. I shall check the duty roster and designate a knowledgeable botanist to conduct a walking seminar."

"That's not necessary, Mr. Spock," Borrin objected, casting an overly warm gaze toward Mrs. Giotto. "My interest is more...aesthetic."

Spock had maintained his mental shields at a higher than usual level since the arrival of Lady Zarxeana's party. Nevertheless, he could almost hear Mrs. Giotto wishing that Borrin's abilities were not limited to 'sending' - a handicap by Betazoid standards, and given his apparent pursuit of a Starfleet Security Chief's wife, probably not his only mental defect.

"Perhaps Ensign Dawson would be an appropriate choice," Spock suggested. "He has a subspecialty in photography and botanical illustration."

"Perfect!" Mrs. Giotto exclaimed, preempting Borrin's objection.

Spock inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her look of gratitude, but directing his gaze to provide the impression of addressing Borrin. "It is my honor to serve."

"But I -" Borrin stopped, his eyes taking on the vaguely distant look of someone engaged in a telepathic exchange.

Lady Zarxeana emerged behind them, escorted by the Captain and Lt. Grossman. "Don't argue, Borrin," she commanded, verbalizing for emphasis. "Now take the nice Vulcan's offer. The delicious Mr. Cupcake here," she threw a coquettish smile at Grossman, "will show you to Mr. Dawson's office and escort you both to the arboretum."

Borrin looked up, and then up a little more, at Grossman, who was projecting an admirable 'come along quietly' attitude despite the substantial blush coloring his cheeks.

The Betazoid bowed his head. "Yes, Lady."

Zarxeana watched them leave, maintaining an imperious air until they were through the door, and then sighed, shaking her head. "My apologies, Denise, Borrin is the most reliable accountant I've ever had. Unfortunately, in other matters his moral compass seems to revolve about an axis pinned at groin-level." She patted the Captain's arm with a mischievous smile. "He's even worse than you, Jim."

Surprisingly, the Captain responded with a brazen grin. "My thoughts are only indecent where you're concerned, Zarxeana."

_Fascinating_. The Captain had insisted that he required no assistance in preventing his thoughts from straying to confidential matters. Apparently, he did indeed have a well-established methodology; one almost ideally suited to dealing with a Betazoid woman of Zarxeana's age.

"A flattering lie," she observed with a laugh. "But you would never let your thoughts dwell on a married woman, whereas Borrin is positively drawn by the challenge. There are a dozen women here he might have been more likely to pursue, but one married to a Commander with a mind we were warned not touch? Moth. Flame."

Based upon prior observation, Spock estimated a 98.972% likelihood that Denise Giotto was resisting an urge to facepalm. A somewhat understandable impulse given the efforts expended to shield her husband from interactions that might reopen old wounds and from the knowledge of interventions that might wound his pride.

"Thank you for sending him off, Lady Zarxeana, before I was forced to do something undiplomatic."

"Oh, it was entirely selfish of me." She dismissed the thanks with a wave of her hand. "Good accountants are hard to find. I would have been terribly inconvenienced if he'd turned up with a dart planted between his eyes."

Denise looked down, clearing her throat slightly. "I wouldn't actually have done that."

"Perhaps," Zarxeana admitted. "But your husband might have, or at least damaged Mr. Borrin rather badly."

Spock's eyebrows rose. More obvious expressions of shock, verging on anger, were evident on the faces of the two humans. Surely she had not...?

"Oh, you needn't worry," she assured them. "Just saying 'hello' when we first materialized was like poking a Xanthan razorbeast. He apologized later for the reflex, but I assure you, whatever Starfleet secrets he has in his head are safe from me." She made a disapproving sound in her throat. "I must say, the sort of methods necessary to ingrain that kind of reaction in a psi-null person would be considered _most_ unethical on Betazed ...although I sense his circumstances may have been extraordinary...?"

"If you did not access Mr. Giotto's thoughts," Spock interrupted. "Upon what basis did you anticipate physical violence?"

"Why, the thoughts of nearly everyone else in the room! If your security people weren't terrified of being caught at it, they would have had quite a betting pool running on if, when, and how their CO would finally break his Rule One and send Borrin to sickbay." She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "They're all quite concerned that 'Pop' has been unusually tense. In fact, sweet Mr. Cupcake was seriously considering 'accidentally' knocking Borrin unconscious in hopes of preventing assault charges."

The Captain barked a laugh, widening his eyes with amused disbelief. "And you sent him to escort Borrin anyway."

She shrugged. "It might teach him a lesson. And it was certainly not the worst plan I overheard." Zarxeana favored him with a sly smile, lifting an eyebrow. "Although to Borrin's credit, getting a woman alone in a dusk-shadowed garden is also not a _terrible_ plan - at least not if the woman in question doesn't want to feed you to a carnivorous plant."

"You know, I _should_ probably make sure Cupcake doesn't get carried away," Kirk mused, giving Zarxeana a keen look.

"My thoughts exactly," she concurred, twining a hand about his arm with a smile suggestive of the Betazoid version of _pon farr_. "Shall we?"

The Captain flashed a roguish grin, to which Zarxeana responded with delighted laughter, "Oh, Jim, such thoughts!" echoing behind as he escorted her from the room.

Spock exchanged a look with Mrs. Giotto, an entirely untelepathic transmission of 'We shall never speak of this again'.

She glanced in the direction of her husband, still being monitored by a concerned physician, and her lips quirked in a manner indicating amusement. "I should probably have a word with them before the Doctor tries to sedate him." She paused a moment, shifting to a more serious look. "I think Sam would find it ...distasteful... to be informed of his subordinates' private thoughts."

Given Mr. Giotto's very limited tolerance for speculation about his personal life, those subordinates would undoubtedly find such revelation distasteful as well. "As what we know could best be described as hearsay, I would consider sharing it to be most inappropriate."

"Thank you, Mr. Spock. I knew you'd understand." Mrs. Giotto smiled, adding as she turned to go, "I hope we'll see you for poker when this is over. Sam enjoys the game more when you're there."

Spock's eyebrows lifted in surprise. That no offense was taken did not mean that no harm had been done. The Captain had advised him to 'give Sam some space' - a human idiom which implied avoiding interaction until the emotional consequences of some trespass had subsided. Yet, while the Giottos clearly did not share a telepathic bond, there was little doubt that she knew her husband's feelings and that the invitation had been sincere.

Vulcans did not feel relief, but Spock did experience the sense of weight lifted. "I shall endeavor to attend."

* * *

.

_AN: I usually try to make these tales somewhat independent, but the one I had intended to put here just wouldn't come together, in part because the Spock in my head insisted on a follow-up to the events of the last chapter. _

_In TNG's _**Manhunt**_ we learn that at a certain age a Betazoid woman's sex drives hits warp 10. Picard found this disconcerting. I'm pretty sure Kirk would've handled Lwaxana just fine. ;)  
_

_More background for why certain old friends have a running joke about Giotto being a masochist can be found in _**An Orion Roman Holiday**_ (which I swear I'll get back to soon).  
_

"_There is no offense when none is taken" is a Vulcan philosophy. Sam took no offense; if anything, he's ashamed of his reaction to Spock's attempted meld (and annoyed by everyone else treating him with kid gloves). However, the experience has rattled him - just not as much as having to be 'polite and dignified' while some jerk hits on his wife. Fortunately, Spock totally got that._

_Please r&r - I'm not a telepath, so reviews are the only way I know if this story worked._


	24. The Unofficial List

**The Unofficial List**

_Because there are rules and then there are rules...**  
**_

* * *

"We're done here if you want this one, sir."

Telman shot an inquiring look at his companion. They'd actually done only one set on this machine, but having just joined the Enterprise crew, Jon wasn't about to contradict the person showing him the ropes.

"Trust me," Kubrick whispered and straightened to a posture just shy of attention as the man he'd waved over approached.

Jon followed suit, not that he'd needed the hint. The guy was in sweats, but he had 'ranking officer' written all over him - grey hair, confidence, and the slightly dangerous air of someone who could make your life miserable if you crossed him.

Other details added clues as the man approached. He was muscular - more cut than usual in a officer his age - but he wasn't wearing the weight lifting gloves most people used in here. So, calloused hands - not senior staff with desk job. Probably one of the division inspectors who had to climb a lot of access ladders, and if he was as much of a by-the-book type as he looked, it was no wonder Kubrick wanted to stay on his good side.

"I don't mind working in if you want to do a few more sets." The offer was voiced politely, but carried just a hint of suspicion, as though the speaker could see right through a suck-up move and wasn't having it.

"No, sir. It's fine - just getting the new guy checked out on the equipment," Kubrick answered quickly. "This is-"

"Ensign Telman, Sensor Calibration and Maintenance," the man finished for him and offered a hand. "I'm Cmdr. Giotto, the Security Chief."

Eep. Definitely not someone you wanted for an inspection. Logically, the CSO would have reviewed background checks for all the new crewmembers, but Jon was still surprised to have been recognized on sight (and just a little freaked out by the disconcerting impression that Giotto knew everything he'd ever done wrong, all the way back to shooting spitballs in 1st grade).

"Pleased to meet you, sir," Telman managed and took the hand. Giotto's grip was firm, but not like one of those guys who used a handshake to prove something. Then again, what did a Commander in Security have to prove? Especially one who'd survived long enough to have that much white in his hair.

Giotto's eyebrows rose slightly. "Never seen grey hair before, Ensign?"

_Yikes, he'd been staring. _ "No, sir!"

The eyebrows climbed higher.

Jon felt his face go red. " ...I mean, yes, sir. I have, sir." He smiled weakly, desperately thinking of how to extract his foot from his mouth. "I didn't mean to stare, sir. Your hair just looks so much like my father's."

Giotto's cheeks sucked in slightly, his eyes flicking toward Kubrick, whose horrified expression was all the testimony Telman needed to confirm that he had just said exactly the wrong thing. _Yotz_. Less than 24 hours on the ship and he'd already gotten off on the wrong foot with the Security Chief.

"Sorry, sir," Kubrick interceded hastily. "Telman came right from Alpha Centauri - shuttle lag, you know. I should've made sure he rested, but he was eager to work out a bit." He tugged at Jon's arm. "I'll just take him to the mess and make sure he gets some grub and coffee before his first shift."

Giotto looked as though he was trying to resist rolling his eyes, but nodded dismissal, allowing that face-saving excuse for retreat.

Not one to question an opportunity to flee disaster, Telman followed his guide out of the gym with all deliberate speed. Once they were safely inside the locker room, he leaned against a wall, expelling the breath he'd just realized he'd been holding.

"I am so screwed..."

A basso chuckle came from the doorway. Its source crossed arms as thick as Jon's leg. "Relax, you're not screwed." He smirked a little. "Although Kubrick might be."

Kubrick gave him a sour look. "Shut up, Cupcake."

Cupcake? Telman looked at the bull of a man with that unlikely moniker. Maybe he ate a lot of cupcakes? He was big enough, although he looked to be more muscle than fat. Jon filed it as a working hypothesis, but after starting off wrong with the Giotto, so he sure as hell wasn't going to risk asking.

"The Chief's been a bit tense lately, Bobby," Cupcake observed. "But you're the one who didn't give the new guy the rules."

"Rules?" Telman asked, looking a question at both of them. "I thought Giotto just had one: walk away from a fight if you can."

"Security has another: end it quickly if you can't," Cupcake amended. "But those are the official ones." He gave Kubrick a meaningful look. "There are _unofficial_ rules."

"Like don't imply that Giotto's old," Bobby mumbled, pulling at the back of his neck. "And a lot people call him 'Pop', but not to his face. He doesn't particularly like it."

And Jon had just told Giotto that he had grey hair like his father's... he felt his stomach drop. And then his temper flared. "You didn't tell me any of that!" He took a step forward, stabbing an accusing finger at Kubrick. "And _you_ called him over!"

"Calm down." A beefy hand landed on his shoulder, which, while not exactly calming, did make Telman immediately reconsider any impulse toward physical confrontation. "That was the only thing Bobby did right. The Chief is a more relaxed person after he works out. He won't ever pull rank in the gym, but - believe me - offering to let him take a piece of equipment is to everyone's advantage."

"Anything _else_ I should know?" Telman asked irritably.

Kubrick gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry, I should have told you. Basic rules: Don't mess with Scotty's engines or his still, and don't touch his sandwich. Don't ever be sloppy in a science lab and _never_ mention Spock's mother, even if you think he can't hear you." He grimaced slightly. "Vulcan ears."

"Don't pull anything risky, even if you see the Captain do the same thing," Cupcake put in. His mouth went a little sideways. "Also don't get in the way if Kirk's trying to pick up a woman."

They continued in unison "Do not, _under any circumstances_, hack off Dr. McCoy."

Telman blinked. He'd gotten a check-up when he came aboard and the doctor had seemed pretty nice. "McCoy - the one with the southern drawl?"

"Yeah. Don't let that 'friendly country doctor' act fool you," Cupcake warned. "When he's gets angry, he makes Giotto look like a teddy bear."

That was hard to imagine, but Jon resolved to avoid anything that might provide proof for the assertion. "Okay. Is that it?"

Cupcake and Kubrick exchanged a glance.

"Kubrick fell down on the job, so I'll let you see my list for Giotto," Cupcake conceded. He retrieved a PADD from his gym bag, but held it back, giving him a stern look. "You understand this is strictly crewmate-to-crewmate. The existence of this list must never get back to any senior officer."

Jon nodded solemnly and accepted the PADD. The screen displayed a single page.

=/\=

Things Not to Do if There Is Any Chance of Mr. Giotto Finding Out:

+ Be dismissive of someone because of size or age (particularly if you imply that Giotto is past his prime). This is an excellent way to learn not to underestimate opponents because you will be assigned to spar with people older and/or smaller who will repeatedly hand you your ass.

+ Act like a tough guy. The Chief has no tolerance for the sort of macho BS that usually leads people to take unnecessary risks. He will make a point of taking you down a notch for your own good.

+ Show off flashy moves in practice or combat training. Giotto will invite you spar with him and demonstrate, probably painfully, why the sort of moves that look good in vids are a bad idea in real life.

+ Get so drunk and rowdy on shore leave that someone has to come get you. There are an almost infinite number of ways to make someone with a hangover suffer. Giotto will combine as many as he possibly can.

+ Cause trouble for the ship's diplomatic liaison (aka, Mrs. Giotto). There is no fun/excitement/adventure on any planet that is worth this. Trust us.

+ Shove, threaten or verbally abuse a crewmate (without extraordinarily good preventing-the-destruction-of-earth type reason). There will be Consequences. They will be harsh. On the up side, everyone will be exceptionally polite to everyone else for days afterward.

+ Mishandle a weapon. If you do, you will learn the difference between a Security Chief and God: with God there is the possibility of mercy.

+ Allow yourself to become distracted while on duty, especially guard duty. Don't even think about it. You don't want to know.

+ Imagine that Giotto won't find out if you do any of the above. Trying to hide or deny a screw up will only make matters worse.

=/\=

Telman read it twice before returning the PADD. "Thanks."

"No problem. Just remember, word of this does _not_ get out." Cupcake switched the screen to a shift schedule and paused. "Oh - and it's not on the list, but it's generally a good idea not to bother him before he's had coffee."

.

* * *

.

Giotto got off the shoulder press and wiped it down, surreptitiously observing as Grossman slipped out of the locker room.

Stealth was not Cupcake's strong suit and neither was looking casual. Obviously, the list had once again been 'secretly' passed to a new crewmember.

Giotto had never learned who'd started it, which was a shame, because he'd like to buy that person a drink. He had a copy in his desk and had once or twice considered just posting it on his office wall. The only reason he hadn't was that it seemed to be more effective when people thought it was a secret.

"Over here, sir." Baker waved. "We're done with this one."

Huh. Third suddenly available machine today. Sam nodded thanks and collected his towel, resolving talk to Dr. Noel later - putting up with that bunch of uppercrust Betazoid civilians must have gotten to him more than he realized.

.

* * *

_AN: Inspired by_ **Saphura**'s 'The Official List of Unofficial Rules'. _In the last tale, Giotto was a little distracted, but he usually knows what's going on. Sometimes it's just better not to let on that he does_.

_Like it? Hate it? Please r&r_


End file.
